A Vicious Rebuke

Well, maybe not vicious, but that's a good title, non? It's been a bit since my last post so I need to "bring some zing" with a tantalizing headline. However the real meat of this post can be found by clicking this link. Sorry for keeping you hanging, dear Disclaimians, hope this nerdy little cyber-encounter is to your liking.

(BACKGROUND: Macintosh Garden is a web site where people upload old Mac games from the eighties and nineties. A person needs an old Mac, a newer Mac with Classic, or an emulator to play the games. I urge you to look up the Brownie camera here if you are unsure as to it's origins, because it was a phenomenon of popular technology in its time.)

My First Flat Tire

I changed my first flat tire on a in probably ten years today. Yesterday when I was returning home with my little Toyota there was a Cherokee that had knocked down the fence along the entrance alley to the back lane and plowed into the side of the house. The fence was laying across the lane with nails sticking up, and I'm pretty certain I must have caught one there.

I'm not sure how the Cherokee ended up crashing into the house. The ground was wet, but not frozen, the house was on the left-hand side of the lane (the truck, if it were entering the lane, should have been on the right). My guess is the person was either trying to avoid a squirrel or a cat, or they were right ripped. However, it was the middle of the afternoon, so it is slightly less probable that the incident had to do with being intoxicated. What is indisputable is that they were going far too fast: the fence is destroyed and the side of the house looks pretty nasty.

Damon said to me: "Did you lift the car before you tried to loosen the bolts?" And we both laughed, because I totally did. Rookie mistake. I also didn't know that the big old hammer in the back was to knock off the wheel. I just yanked with all my might and fell back into traffic when it finally came flying off.

Damon took me and my sad tire to this place on Erin and they fixed it right up for $20.

Stereotheism

Sometimes I think I’d like to study religion. In fact I’ve seriously been considering going to church lately. Thankfully the church I grew up in, nominally Christian though it may be, has no stipulation as to who, if anyone, one must take as his lord and master. The Unitarian faith is about as liberal as it gets. There have always been, at least in my lifetime, female ministers, openly gay members of the congregation, and an acceptance of other religions. I can remember as a kid going to Hanukah celebrations and seeing Hindi women in church. There is no conflict of interest as long as you are open to possibility and willing to be a loving person rather than a hateful one. Even a staunch Republicans are welcome (although they will probably find little support for their pro-life, pro-gun politics.)

Anyway what interests me most right now is this whole business of Monotheism. Specifically, if there seems to be a duality to just about everything (good/evil, darkness/light, man/woman) how is it that the vast majority of believers have come to the conclusion that there is only one (most often male) God? Sure some have tried to balance off the notion of God with a Devil, but the Devil is not God’s opposite, he is a fallen angel, a creation of God gone bad.

One entity is supposed to have created all this complexity, all this variety, single-handedly. Furthermore this single being has a handle on everything, can judge instantly the morality of our actions and decide what is righteous and what is wicked.

The power structures in our world are similarly modeled. We have one leader (president, prime minister, king, supreme overlord, CEO; once again most often male) who steers the fate of our federation (be it national, corporate or otherwise). But the basis for our real lives, our families, can only come to be as the result of two people. Ideally (though not, as I know from personal experience, always) these two people, remain together and act as the guiding force for those whom they have created. Together they use their experience and accumulated wisdom to make decisions and judgments they would not have been able to make otherwise.

As we have so often seen someone who is given supreme power is liable to fuck things up royally. Which is why there are checks and balances (in a democratic system at least). But ultimately our systems give the power and the glory to one leader. Is this tendency derived from our religion, or is our Monotheism based on this system of organization? Why has it become so universal, and is it truly more accountable, efficient and socially valid than a more broadly based idea of power?

Even within the lower animals there are a variety of power structures (not saying that animals and humans are necessarily that similar in terms of social structure, just pointing out that single leader systems are not universal), so my understanding is that our social hierarchy is a construct, that while sometimes useful, is not supreme and should be challenged, because our leaders seem to have their priorities right buggered up, and one wonders if we wouldn’t benefit from a less rigid dogma on the acquisition and wielding of religious and political power.

A brief history of the Kildonans

A recent visitor to my blog, who is no doubt a proud Kildonanite, took pains to inform me as to the history of his fine neighborhood after having read my post about whether or not Kildonan was a separate entity from the city of Winnipeg. Here is his comment:

You are wrong in saying that Kildonan was not a separate area from Winnipeg. There was a municipality of Kildonan from 1875 to 1914. In 1914 this divided into East and West Kildonan in 1914, two separate municipalities. In 1922 Old Kildonan separated from West Kildonan becoming a separate municipality. In 1925 North Kildonan separated from East Kildonan becoming a municipality. In 1957 East Kildonan became a city while West Kildonan became a city in 1961. In 1972 the four Kildonan’s became part of Winnipeg along with the cities of St. Boniface, St. Vital, Transcona and St James Assinobia with the municipalities of Fort Garry and Charleswood along with the town of Tuxedo and the old city of Winnipeg. -Jim Smith

The Virtues of Ethanol

Yesterday on ALFA I posted a silly little GIF animation that was a lot of fun to make (if a bit time consuming). Today I tackled an even longer project.

Instant Loan Article

There’s a world of bad choices out there for anyone with a bit of credit. Everywhere you look someone is encouraging you to lay out your hard earned money for a bit of instant gratification. And with the explosion of loan shops and once-in-a-lifetime credit offers it’s easier than ever for consumers to get their hands on borrowed cash.

Bill C-26 was tabled in Ottawa earlier this month to allow provinces to cap the amount payday lenders can charge for their services. It’s a measure intended to bring a bit of sanity back to the feeding frenzy creditors have made of our enjoy now, pay later consumer culture. But the proliferation of these despicable loan companies is a built on a popularity of their services, and despite any cap that may be imposed their unsavory practices will continue as long as customers demand it.

According to Statistics Canada a near majority of Canadians (47 per cent) spent more than their pre-tax income in 2001. A 2004 Industry Canada report described consumer bankruptcies as being on a “long-run upward trend” stating that there were “more than two-and-a-half times as many consumer bankruptcies in the 1990’s than during the previous decade.” This same report says that from the beginning of 1989 to the end of 2003 the debt-to-income ratio increased from 73.8 to 103.2 per cent, while the savings rate declined from 14.1 to 1.3 per cent.

In isolation any number of conclusions can be drawn from these numbers: that real earnings are down since the end of the 1980’s, that the cost of living is higher, or that taxation and economic policy have become a greater burden. For example decreases in post-secondary education funding in the early ‘90’s have seen today’s students take on a greater financial burden for the same amount of education a student in the 1980’s would face.

However one cannot simply blame government policy for this epidemic of personal debt. Equal partners in the decline of prudent and reasonable spending habits are the increasing ease of acquiring consumer credit, and a growing lack in the good judgment of the loan seeker.

In many cases the public has simply allowed savvy advertising firms and finance companies to take control of their financial decisions, forgoing an educated and balanced approach in the face of easy credit. In essence they have placed a great deal of trust in people who’s primary goal is to separate them from their money. There is no public education strategy or meaningful political action to counter the voodoo-like lure of modern marketing, and so the cycle of debt continues to grow unchecked.

There is another way. Despite having lived near the poverty-line for the balance of my adult life I have never found myself in dire financial straights. Having made a conscious decision to live within my limited means has enabled me to discover a path to living that avoids the trap of becoming a slave to creditors and the notions of class and convenience instilled by advertisers.

I am certain that my near asceticism won’t appeal to most, and I’m not advocating for a monastic life for the masses. But I do believe there is a lot more to be gained from practicing some prudence than any television commercial or payday loan agent would have you believe.

While it is true that many of my clothes were once someone else’s and that I’m not very up-to-date on the city’s finer dining establishments I do retain the freedom to make choices for myself without having to consult with my bankers, and am comfortable in the knowledge that my purpose in life has not become to my next car payment. I take the time to think, to breathe, and to be thankful for the things I have rather than run up another hill of debt when the next must-have item saunters past in a coat of shiny cellophane.

Having one’s thumbs screwed by unhappy collection agents and getting gouged at the instant loan shops is no way to get by. The true path to financial freedom is to balance what is truly needed against unnecessary wants disguised in a cloak of affordable monthly installments.

Evolution of the Middle West

The core of the continent
after a hundred years of explosive growth
when entrepreneurial Europeans
bought off the native people
with glass beads and Bay blankets
is dying-off like old star.

Where once energetic pioneers
surveyed the windswept plains
huddled near the fire
in rustic sod huts
and languished in the humidity
of their vibrant young cities
today they wander off west
to the new capitals of capital.

Oh, how we bemoan our fate!
Mystified we beat the bushes
looking for a solution
to the ennui and economic despair
that teaches our young and educated
to fly away.

“We can be great again”
the optimists opine
the right mix of policy and publicity
can recapture the spirited energy
that made our cities the envy of the world
in the year 1908
just build some bus lanes
and turn empty warehouses
into condos
all will be well again.

But wide open skies
and clean water
are not the draws they once were
prosperity depends on how much bacon
one brings home,
in today’s world
the workers are not tied to agriculture
or the modest industries of the middle-west.

The big cities capture excitement
romance and adventure
like ours once did
they have mountains, money
and movie stars
we have winter, urban decay
and entire neighborhoods
full of dismal poverty.

Let your children go
into that brave New West
ours is a land of opportunity spent
where our very existence
depends on generous payments
from the national coffers
like a once glorious sub-Saharan state
our wealth has dried up and withered
there are not enough natural reasons
to fuel future growth,
let it be so.

Maintaining the Status Quo: A Classic Disclaimer Rant

Economics is a minefield for the uninitiated. Posing as a science it is in fact a more mystical pursuit whose main objective is to hold power for those who keep the money. We the ordinary, un-enshrined members of society: the artists, the students, the workaday types are at the mercy of a system that keeps our thumbs screwed tight and does not allow for dissent. No matter what your feeling on the matter rent must be paid and work must be done to accommodate the idea that we all must earn a wage and therefore “contribute” to the economic wealth of our nation.

In the absence of a truly pan-national ethos Economics is the closest we can come to agreeing on what the purpose of life might be. Various theorists and political enterprises have tried to shape how this modern creed is practiced, those with an interest in social justice and the working class tried to infuse economic policies with a collectivist flair, but for the most part the weakness and wickedness in man (sexist pronoun intended), his desire to seize power and dictate, won over the more noble ideals of Bolshevism, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth of those who would wish to organize economies for the benefit of all.

What is left is the trickle-down theory, the grossly unfair policies of the powerful that insist that individual wealth is the greatest thing to which we can aspire, a right that is enshrined in tax and corporate law to ensure that it continues indefinitely. The real victory of the Cold War in this context was the victory of billionaire industrialists (i.e. war makers) over every day people. The “winning” system of economics did not end up helping its poor, in fact it barely felt the need to pay them lip service. Its goal was to crush the idea that wealth should be shared, that its methods should be questioned, that “progress” should be measured by any other standard than profit.

Now we see that those who control this system lie to us outright and arrogantly send their armies out to die for an ideology and/or faith they do not wholly understand. The philosophy that guides these leaders is one of privilege and isolation. They believe that the fibs they tell are for the greater good, not really understanding that “the greater good” means anything other than what is best for their own cabal of friends and associates.

Granted it is difficult for anyone to become enlightened enough to see beyond one’s own ego. Their are monumental questions to ponder before one can contemplate with sobriety the shaping of human history. But these questions are never asked. The brains of the masses are subdued by toxic images and ideas—taught to conform, rather than to think. Thus those who attain power are much like the majority: absorbed in self-interest, and holding true to unquestioned ideologies even in the face of evidence that these beliefs are a tremendous failure in practice.

The basic truth, that modern representational democracy is generally a huge failure, is masked by creating a middle-class that can succeed despite the odds and can be lulled into believing that their success can be shared by everyone; that their success should be the goal of everyone. The gross unfairness, the inhumanity of the engine that generates wealth for the great Northern nations is effectively hidden in dreams of making it big and in the struggle for personal economic security. When necessary wars are engineered to keep the public imagination from straying too far.

No-one is encouraged to envision a society that has every basic need met, so that the purpose of work is really just to maintain a sustainable and healthy slow or no growth model of human existence. We must grow, grow, grow, more like a cancer than anything. We must progress at all costs. Everything this year needs to be smaller, faster and more cunningly designed than the things we needed so badly last year. Everyone must be kept busy, busy, busy. So much to gather up and exploit before we expire. When we are idle the guilt and worry can consume us, so thoroughly programmed we have become to be “productive.”

Even our gods are explained in absolute terms, and their wishes spelled out in ancient texts which cannot be questioned. Real lives are destroyed, and Earth herself condemned on the basis of archaic prophecy. No one believes that religion can or should be reformed by anyone but God’s own representatives; however the age of mysticism and prophecy is over so we live with impractical dogma that cannot be re-written, and unimaginative leaders who use this dogma as a power structure rather than an instructional model to free people of their worldly constraints. Heaven is a place where nothing happens, Earth is only the way station to this eternal nothingness, and what we do here matters little as long as it is done in the name of God.

What is wrong with us, do we truly need catastrophe to change how we govern ourselves? Is Armageddon the only way to open the door to a new understanding?

Ode to an Autumn Night

This is a short poem about a beautiful autumn night I wrote last night after walking home from Osborne Village.

fall dapples
the waters of the assinaboine
in reverse
dark water, bright leaves
perfect calm
middle of the bridge

trees are every colour
lit by streetlight
afire of orange, yellow
red and brown
breathing in
mysterious night

glorious decay
life giving into itself
for another season
changes in the stars
as Earth
prepares to sleep

Is this what Jesus would do?

Here's another article I published in the Free Press.
A public craving for revenge in the wake of the murder of University of North Dakota student Dru Sjodin was satisfied last week when a jury of 12 decided to impose the death penalty on Alfonso Rodriguez, Jr.

Although the jury unanimously agreed that Mr. Rodriguez suffered from a “mental disorder or impairment” and that a sentence of death would devastate his immediate family they ruled in the end that he was still capable of making “good decisions” and therefore deserved to lose his life for the horrific rape and murder of the attractive young woman. They made this decision despite the fact that Mr. Rodriguez, who feared he may continue to pose a danger to society, had asked to remain in prison following his mandatory release.

The American right to commute a sentence of death upon those who commit murder is an anomaly in the Western world, where among the nations of North America and Europe only Belarus, Guatemala, Belize and a handful of Caribbean countries actively retain the practice. Among countries considered to be “fully developed democracies” only the U.S., Japan and South Korea impose the death penalty. It has not been shown to act as a significant deterrent in states where it is practiced, and its purpose must therefore be seen primarily as an act of vengeance.

In the case of Mr. Rodriguez, according to jury foreman Terry Heuer, "There was some feeling, 'What mercy was shown for Dru?' Life in prison wasn’t punishing him because he got along fine in prison." It is astonishing enough that a group of 12 people could agree to execute an individual they regarded as mentally impaired, but to do so because prison was not deemed enough of a punishment is appalling.

In the wake of this decision there has been talk in North Dakota and Minnesota of re-instating capital punishment, where it has been suspended since the early part of the last century (Mr. Rodriguez was convicted on a federal statute and therefore eligible for the death penalty.) The reversal would be a tragic result, especially in light of the fact that Mr. Rodriguez should never have been allowed to re-enter society unsupervised in the first place.

There will no doubt be an appeal in this case, and it may be years before Mr. Rodriguez faces lethal injection (a practice which is currently facing challenges in some U.S. jurisdictions as being counter to the eighth amendment abolishing “cruel and unusual punishment”). But the question of how a randomly selected group of people, most if not all of whom would identify themselves as Christians, could reach the unanimous decision to execute another human remains puzzling to say the least.

More than any other county in the democratic world the United States identifies itself as a nation under God, and yet they continue to practice, quite publicly, the most reprehensible form of retribution, short of torture, known to man. To paraphrase a currently popular American sentiment: Is this what Jesus would do?

Peg City Panorama

This is an image I made with my camera's panorama feature and a few Photoshop filters.

Video Games and Violence

This is an opinion piece I wrote after having read a report on video games and violence. It was politely rejected, but I'm interested if anyone has any further opinions on it, since I'm not much of a gamer myself, just someone who believes that games don't make killers.

In the wake of the most recent school shooting in Montreal I read a report seeking a connection between violent video games and the actions of the assailant. In my opinion asking if video games cause violent behavior is a bit like asking if drinking alcohol causes car crashes.

The vast majority of people who play video games do not go on shooting sprees, just as most people who drink copiously do not attempt to drive themselves home afterwards. Nonetheless there will always be a portion of society who is at risk to engage in potentially deadly or murderous behavior, albeit for vastly different reasons.

In the case of one who chooses to drink and drive society typically deems the driver fully responsible for his actions, but in the case of killers who play video games—which millions enjoy daily without serious thoughts of actual murder—we tend to seek a cause in the form of entertainment. When someone is killed senselessly as a result of a drunken driver the media seldom digs for mitigating circumstances, yet in the case of random homicide(s) we are never satisfied by the possibility that this was just a sick person who could not find the help they needed; or worse that there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent tragedy.

Perhaps our helplessness and disbelief in the face of an irrational murder obliges us to seek a deeper motive, but I think we do ourselves a great disservice by blaming TV and videogames for real violence.

The tendency to see violent entertainment as a predicate for acts of violence is disingenuous. Violent rampages have happened and will continue to occur with or without the aid of a Playstation or a library of Schwarzenegger films. Senseless violence was with us before every case of it resulted in a media circus, a Hollywood movie and a bestselling book.

Indiscriminate acts of violence are committed by people with disturbed minds, whether the result of an abusive past, family problems, a mental handicap, substance abuse, a sociopathic personality or a combination of these. This is not to say that murderers do not gather influence and enthusiasm from violent forms of entertainment, but I don’t believe that an unquenchable yearning to act violently is visited in healthy people who partake in such diversions.

As for the question of whether these games promote a desensitization in the minds of youth—which may or may not lead to a potential to act out violently—I think it’s pretty clear that where and how one is raised is a far more critical factor than the games one plays. Before videogames children played war, wrestled with one another and engaged in violent sports like hockey and football. For most these games were and remain a healthy outlet for the aggressive phase of childhood and early adulthood that is experienced by many. Videogames are no different; despite the gore since most players are capable of realizing the blood and guts for what it is: a fantasy.


The real question should not be “Do videogames cause violence,” but rather how we as a society treat those who are vulnerable to acting out violent fantasies. Are we sensitive enough to the calls for help they often make before acting? Are we listening to what they are expressing and recognizing the signs? Are we offering treatment and ensuring that they are housed in a safe, nurturing environment?

To blame videogames for an act of murder is to abdicate our responsibility for what we could have, and should have, done to prevent it. Censoring games and violent programs will not do much in the end to stem the violence. What really needs to be done is to provide the proper care for those in our society whose mental and/or spiritual states lead them to believe that killing others is an answer to their problems.

Thinking in Happy Thoughts: A Poem

In the middle of this downpour
a whole bus load of
small children appear
wearing a rainbow
of bright coats and
rubber boots.

Girls carry Hello Kitty umbrellas
boys jump high in the air
and come splashing down
on every puddle they meet
all one can hear
is laughter.

Open the sky, let it rain
they will find imagination
in the shimmering streets
a rivulet of storm water
draining away becomes
the mighty Amazon.

Wet and windy days
foretell the end of summer
but for these explorers
it is something new
and wondrous
to discover.

A Nasty Letter I Object Strongly To

Here's a short, nasty letter that appeared in today's Free Press and my response:

Disgusting article

Re: A tearful plea for son's life (Sept. 13).

I found the article about this crazed, animal-like man (Alfonso Rodriguez) to be very disgusting. I do not know why any members of this family should be allowed any time or space in any media to claim his actions were in any way not his own fault.

ROBERT S. PORTER

Winnipeg

Robert S. Porter’s venomous letter regarding “crazed, animal-like man” Alfonso Rodriguez displayed a surprisingly uninformed and unjustifiable opinion in light of what is known about Rodriguez’s mental health, and the fact that Mr. Rodriguez himself asked not to be released from prison. Not only does Mr. Rodriguez’s mother have every right to plea for mercy on his behalf, but given the facts of the case there should be no question as to whether the death penalty is warranted. Mr. Rodriguez and his victim were let down by the prison system that set him free; he does not deserve a state sanctioned death, nor the condemnation of ignoramuses like Mr. Porter.

Return of the ASCL

As a rainy day project I decided I'd continue on with some more of the ASCL logos I originally created as a sports-graphics-obsessesed, nerdy youngster. These ones are probably two of my all time vaves. I liked the names of the teams, and the fact that they were just pictures with no letters. Here is a link to the original ACSL post, in case you don't know, or don't remember, the the background of this post. The second post of logos is here.

here/now

>sinewy
legs pushing pedals
nowhere is here
rutted gravel road
hands on handlebar
eyes ahead
riding hard
Nowhere in mind

>sky
gusty twisting wind
now is with
now against
sun bursts through
stubble prairie
autumn brown yellow
shadow and relief

>freedom
no banshee bankers
chasing after
commission-free
off the clock
only clouds
sailing by
like hulls of cumulous ships

>>here
a park bench
far enough away
from the workaday city
old Ukrainian man laughs
when his rheumy black dog
snuffles the sandwich
“better watch your lunch”

>>now
is forever
an opening in time-space
late summer breathes
nowhere to be
but here
damn glad
to be alive Today

Reflections on 9/11

Today is a horrible anniversary. The events of five years ago plunged the United States and its allies into a nationless “war on terror” against an invisible enemy. At that time the world was sympathetic and vengeance was swift. The terrorists’ Taliban harbourers were smart-bombed into hiding, while anyone carrying a suspicious passport was unceremoniously incarcerated in foreign jails that precluded the possibility of American style justice.

All of a sudden it was no longer possible to afford the prisoners of war the same rights America had demanded for its P.O.W. populations during previous conflicts. This war, we were told, was different. As much as America knew that torture was an ineffective method of gathering useful intelligence, as much as its citizens were horrified to think that Americans kidnapped by jihadists were suffering from similarly inhumane treatment, the American government was unrepentant in its use of such tactics.

The media glossed over all but the goriest and most obvious reports of mass misconduct and focused instead on how much the world had changed since that fateful day when four commercial jets were repurposed as deadly missiles. No perspective was ever offered on the loss of life compared to the staggering cost of the wars fought as a result. No one seemed too concerned about the amount of freedom that would be sacrificed in order to protect against unverifiable threats at every turn. That summer thousands more Americans died behind the wheel of an automobile, were murdered in gang violence, killed themselves for want of affordable psychiatric help. But America's government and its blood thirsty, lap-dog media saw only the need to feed the citizenry newsworthy threats of imminent terrorism, much as an arsonist might continue to douse an inferno with gasoline.

Our own media began to call us cowards and ostriches because we refused to recognize this new threat to our peace and security. They chided us for our anti-American sentiments, believing that we had let a hatred for Bush blind us to the virtues of his imperialistic assault on Baghdad. They urged us to act before a terrorist took out a Tim Horton’s in Oakville and really opened our eyes.

But I remain convinced that there is no practical way for these terrorists to destroy us. At most they can continue to develop plots that may kill several hundred, or if they are lucky, several thousand in a single shot. The more complex and ambitious the plot, the more likely it is to be discovered and foiled. They can never wage a conventional war against us, never take the soil from under our feet. Our best response isn’t to pretend nothing has happened, but nor is it to take up arms against unseen threats.

If we allow fear to guide the way we live, if we squander liberty for the occasional dramatic instance of violence, rather than maintaining our stoicism at the cost of a few innocent lives, then we are lost. What we must do is stand tall and face fear, not with vengeance in our hearts, not with the idea that we can rout out evil with enough weaponry, but with the belief that life goes on despite tragedy and despicable acts of hate. How can one possibly hope to stop a tide of suicide bombers with a show of force? Antagonizing terror only spurs terror. It is only in re-evaluating our actions, in showing that we are not afraid, that we can truly conquer the beast.

A war is what the billionaire industrialists want, for it reinforces the entitlement they feel to be lords of us all. A war is what the pockets of extremists in far away lands want, for it justifies their right to exist and to claim that their god is threatened by Western values. But a war doesn’t do much good for the average Canadian. It does not reverse the sentiment of a disenfranchised lot who may be plotting to blow-up Parlaiment; it does not give us hope that the valiant efforts of our Armed Forces will result in the victory of good over evil. It only serves to divide us and weaken our resolve.

The media and government can reprimand us for mistrusting our American allies, but they are wrong to attribute our wariness to some abstract concept of “us and them.” The point of anti-American sentiment is not that they are richer, more conservative or simply different from us. It is that their government and its power hungry supporters use their sense of moral superiority, their continuing belief in Manifest Destiny and the power of their arms and economy to dictate their terms to everyone else. Must we subscribe to a skewed world view in the name of trade and good business? Must we bow to bad ideas because it is the diplomatic thing to do? Need we let a misbegotten and highly politicized concept about what terrorism can achieve transform us into a nation of cowering sheep?

On this, the fifth anniversary of 9/11 what we need to do is to continue to voice our discontent, to say this "war" is not helping, that these ideas about terrorism do not present a useful and workable solution to the problem. Yes it is terrible that thousands of innocents have died, and it is terrible to contemplate the loss of thousands more. But what is even sadder is the idea of giving up our freedom and human rights to a ruling class that shows almost as little respect for its own citizens as it does for its enemies.

Word Fight

Last weekend on the ALFA Blog we had a discussion about the power of words, specifically as they relate to the extreme right-wing opinions of Sun columnist Michael Coren, and others of his ilk (the specific post is here). While there were some that dismissed the power of Mr. Coren’s words because they were based on ignorance and prejudice, I argued that his voice needs to be shouted back at because there are many dumb and hateful people who use his bigotry to fuel their own misguided beliefs.

This same reasoning is what led me to attack last weekend’s editorial by Dallas Hansen (my rebuttal is published with some amendments to the original--posted below--in today’s Free Press.) Whereas I will not accuse Mr. Hansen of being a right-wing extremist idiot on the level of Mr. Coren, he did, in his most recent editorial, make some very wrong-headed generalizations about a marginalized population.

Although I cannot claim to be an expert on the plight of the poor I do understand that their problems are not based primarily on laziness or the existence of welfare, and I could not stand by and let Mr. Hansen, a young and reasonably intelligent man like myself, be the only voice on the matter. He certainly is entitled to his opinion, but when he tries to convince the rest of Winnipeg, via the Free Press, he needs to be countered. His words had too much potential for damage in a city that already ignores its poor, lest it be to make bigoted remarks about them.

Currently the mayor is on a re-election campaign, and with no real brand-name competition he seems to be a lock. His much publicized solution to poverty and the crime it engenders is to increase the police presence on the streets of Winnipeg. This will mask the problem by incarcerating the under-privileged’s most obvious sub-group: the joy-riding car thieves and other petty criminals, but will do little to change the root causes.

Mayor Katz seems to be taking a page out of the book of Bush’s Republican re-election campaign whose unofficial slogan is: “Win ‘em over with Fear.” Like Bush Katz has no real interest in the poor, despite today’s publicity shot of him handing some coins to a panhandler. He is for big business and SUV driving soccer-moms; he represents, with no apologies, the suburban population of this city, the people who don’t come downtown because they fear muggings and vehicle break-ins. And in a sense that’s fine because the suburbs is where most of our population lives, but the truly sad thing is that Sam has no vision. He’s a respected business man with enough of a name that he is electable, and little more. Too bad for Winnipeg, especially those who could benefit from a more compassionate and dedicated mayor with some real ideas on how to improve this city for everyone's benefit, including the least among us.

**(The photo of Katz and Winnipeg citizen Danny Spence was taken by Mike Aporius and published in the Free Press)

Response to an Idiotic Editorial

This is a rebuttal I wrote in response to a horribly prejudiced and idiotic editorial in Saturdays Free Press. The original editorial can be referenced by clicking the linked title of this post

In Saturday’s editorial in the Free Press “Willpower the best weapon against poverty” Dallas Hansen insists that eliminating welfare for “able-bodied workers” is the key to getting poor people to realize the value of their time and efforts through employment. Though his ideas are valid to a certain extent much of Mr. Hansen’s argument is grossly unfair, extremely arrogant and terribly naive.

Mr. Hansen seems to believe that every “able-bodied” person is born with the same amount of will, the same ability to conform, and the same capability to overcome mental and physical illness in pursuit of an honourable, workaday living. He mentions the time he went to a temp agency on a lark and did eight hours of day-labour. It was easy, he claims, and “fun”, to get hired on to do a day of hauling trash. He is certain that, had he chosen to, he could have come back the next day and found an equally amusing job to do for minimal wages.

Sadly there are many who’s circumstances prevent them from enjoying the benefits of our glorious Capitalist system, even with a physically capable body and an abundance of low paying jobs.

For one thing mental illness is a gigantic and often unrecognized barrier to attaining the benefits our society can bestow. This illness may not manifest itself as something we recognize and/or sympathize with. Whereas I doubt Mr. Hansen could reasonably object to a schizophrenic or severely mentally handicapped individual receiving aid from the state I wonder if he realizes that chronic depression and a myriad of other undiagnosed problems are often to blame for an inability to thrive in our miracle economy. Hard work and pride in a job well done can be a tonic for some people suffering these maladies, but they do little in the long run to alleviate the root causes of mental illness.

As for the ever-present evils of substance abuse Mr. Hansen states that the solution is to simply stop drinking and doing drugs. This is a startlingly ignorant position, given that even the wealthiest and most educated people in our society can become entrapped in addiction and ruin their lives as a result. Among those who suffer from drug and alcohol dependence are many whose own families have disowned them, who will never be considered reliable or capable of holding down a job, who cannot afford the uninsured medical and/or psychiatric help they need to get clean. They are caught in a downward spiral with no rope to hold on to.

Mr. Hansen also makes the point that those receiving welfare waste their cheques on pre-packaged low-nutrition food. As savvy as he is he does not perceive the lure of convenience food, and does not seem to realize that an undereducated member of society is much more vulnerable to the manipulation of those who offer bad choices (tobacco companies, fast-food establishments, etc.) than someone who has had the advantages. Furthermore, he does not stop to consider the very real possibility that the welfare mother who feeds her child Pizza Pops may not have the basic cooking skills required to prepare a more economical and healthy meal.

Finally, and perhaps most objectionably, Mr. Hansen implies that it is in the best interest of social workers and agencies who support the impoverished to maintain the welfare rolls. This is patently absurd. Those who work in social services do not do so because it is a comfortable living. They take on highly emotionally draining work and visit desolation daily. How dare Mr. Hansen accuse them of cashing in on pity. I am betting that there are far more social servants of all stripes who would prefer a lighter case load, and more happy endings to a fatter cheque as a result of growing despondency.

There can be no doubt that a certain number of welfare cases would be better served by doing as Mr. Hansen suggests, which is finding pride and accomplishment through daily labour. But his overly-simplistic notions on the matter are discriminatory, insulting, and ultimately do a great disservice to our nation’s poor and those who wish to help them in their struggle to escape destitution and despair.

Travelling Riverside Blues

Last weekend my friend Mike (a frequent vistor to this blog) and I had a discussion about Led Zeppelin lyrics. Mike was surprized to find out that some great lines he had always attributed to the pen of Robert Plant actually belonged to old bluesmen. In fact, I told him, Robert Plant is probably the single greatest rip-off artist of all time. Come to think of it, perhaps "single greatest rip-off artist" is a bit strong--in this day of mashing and sampling it's quite possible that the title might be disputed by Puff Daddy, or any of a dozen or so other artists who have built a whole career on reusing previously recorded material. Anyway I can't think of anyone else who borrowed lyrics so unabashedly, and with such great success (although to be fair most of this borrowing took place on the first three Zep albums. I don't suppose any bluesman ever wrote anything like "The Battle of Evermore" or "Kashmir.")

Anyway, Mike and I were talking specifically about "The Lemon Song" Zep's famous, sexually charged, opus. For his benefit and yours I copied the lyrics from what is--as far as I know--the original source, or at least the originally recorded and preserved source of these infamous lyrics. They come from the Robert Johnson song "Travelling Riverside Blues" originally recorded (according to one web source) in November of 1936 in San Antonio, Texas. Here is the pertainent bit:

Now you can squeeze my lemon 'til the juice run down my...
(spoken) 'til the juice rune down my leg, baby, you know what I'm talkin' about
You can squeeze my lemon 'til the juice run down my leg
(spoken) That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, now
But I'm goin' back to Friars Point, if I be rockin'to my head

Zeppelin also had a tune called "Travelling Riverside Blues" which was a minor hit for them when they released it as the single for the big box set they put out in the early '90's. There are dozens of more examples I'm sure but I won't bore you with them. If you're interested you can look up "The Hunter" by Albert King for another blatant example from the same record (Zep II).

Cyclists generate critical discussion

Today I had my first article published on the main Editorial Page (aka View From the West and Beyond) of the Winnipeg Free Press. Unlike the stuff I wrote for The Tab this article is fairly serious, although I did try to have a little fun with the idea of rampaging cyclists setting city hall alight. Here it is:

Cyclists generate critical discussion

Tue Aug 29 2006

By Ryan Kinrade

CRITICAL Mass demonstrations in Winnipeg have created a heap of controversy this summer, but ultimately they have generated an equal amount of discussion, which must be seen as a good thing. Winnipeg needs to think more seriously about its reliance on single-passenger motor vehicle use. And winter, harsh as it can be, is no excuse to continue indefinitely with our unsustainable status quo.

The protests have divided our socially conscious citizenry into two distinct camps. On the one side, there are those that condemn this event and see it primarily as a way for young people to display their hatred of authority. The police, the mayor and many angry motorists seem to be firmly rooted in this camp. During the last ride on Friday, the police presence, though generally friendly and non-provocative, was so heavy you would think riders were intent on burning down city hall before rioting and looting their way through the rest of downtown.

However, what I observed from my bicycle seat was a wide array of citizenry intent on peace rather than the destruction of civil order. The perception that Critical Mass protesters are anarchist malcontents is only partially true. Every movement has its share of radicals and mischief makers, but people who level this accusation on all riders are making a grave mistake. I noted professional people in attendance, people with children, people who care about our environment, and people who support a strong and healthy community, along with the much reviled cadre of young agitators.

My intent as a participant was not to support disassembling the body politic, or even to flaunt a hatred for motorists and/or law and order. I rode because I believe in my rights as a commuting cyclist, and because I insist that our civic government address the issue of a lack of infrastructure for those of us who wish to use this superior form of transportation as our main means of mobility.

I rode because I believe it is imperative that cyclists feel safe on the streets -- which is where they belong at all times -- and because I feel that this protest has created an atmosphere and appetite in the media to further this vital discussion.

Troublemakers

I realize that there are those who will never see Critical Mass participants as anything more than troublemakers. The free-form nature of the protest is undoubtedly too much for the more conservative rank of citizenry to ever come to terms with. Their minds are indelibly imprinted with images of unwashed radicals fighting it out with police in the May and June rallies. To them Critical Mass is an inconvenience, and ultimately an ineffective protest with no greater aim than to give a great big middle finger to social order and "decent" law-abiding folks.

To a certain extent, I sympathize with this segment of society. I believe Critical Mass has made its point. As an apolitical, leaderless movement it will never have the clout required to change minds at city hall. All it can do is continue to serve as a reminder that a growing number of pedal-pushers demand rights and a place in the consciousness of the motorized majority.

It is my sincere hope that the result of these demonstrations will be a greater vision for this city, along with the political will to enact positive change for everyone who rides a bike on the dangerous streets of Winnipeg, along with those who would join us if they felt safe enough.

Ryan Kinrade is an avid Winnipeg cyclist.

The Right to be Stupid

Frankly, I'm a little surprised that the Sun ran my letter (in the previous post) on Friday, and even more surprised that their editoral comment on it was: "Solid Rebuttal." Sadly, I'm not surprised by this ignorant and bigoted response, as published in yesterday's Sun.

Riders totally without merit

Re: Police brutality feared (Ross Romaniuk, Aug. 25).

These "demonstrators" allege to be protesting in the name of environmental sustainability, but I'd be willing to wager very few, if any, even know what those words mean. No you're right, I was just talking out my ass when I wrote that, I have no idea what sustainability even is, I'm a grade 8 drop out like you. Now, they're going to have cameras to document incidents with police during their ride. I wonder if they'll also be documenting their own members purposely breaking Highway Traffic Act laws wherever and whenever possible? Turns out there was a total of one ticket handed out during the ride, in spite of the presence of half of Winnipeg's police force.

It's a matter of record that they've not only totally disregarded the law over and over again while obstructing traffic at the worst possible times but have also shown they have absolutely no regard for motorists' rights -- and in one case, no regard for human life (the ambulance incident). It may not be a matter of record, but stupid and ignorant motorists often block emergency vehicles for as long or longer than the cyclists allegedly did during the last Critical Mass. As for "motorist's rights" motorists own the streets every other hour of the month last time I checked. for an hour and a half on one Friday afternoon a month cyclists get to take ownership, I don't think it's too much to ask. These demonstrations are totally without merit, since any three-year old knows you save on gas and pollution by riding a bicycle. It's not the three year olds we worry about, it is their parents who drive solo everyday from suburbia to downtown and back. So what's the real reason for these bike rides? To cause trouble. Period. That's certainly a bigoted and uninformed opinion. There were a lot of professionals and people with kids at that rally. As a participant I saw no-one who had come to stir it up with the law. I and many other drivers certainly hope that the police and the courts will begin to take meaningful action against this group of lawbreakers and show them they are not a law unto themselves! I and many other cyclists hope the police will find something more meaningful to do with their resources than persecute people who are trying to raise public awareness of an important issue through a peaceful, and reasonable demonstration.

P. Zurawel

Winnipeg

(Editor's Comment: The message appears to be registering.)

Actually Critical Mass Riders Do Care

This is The Winnipeg Sun's Letter of the Day for today, followed by my response.

They simply don't care

I respect those people who choose to use a bicycle over a car. It's good for their health and for the environment, so ultimately it's good for everyone's health!

However, blocking traffic does not promote a healthy lifestyle. What it does do, however, is it tells everyone that the organizers of "Critical Mass" do not care that some people have to travel a great distance to get to work. It shows that they don't care that someone has a job interview to get to, or that someone else is unable to walk to get their groceries. It shows that they don't care that somebody's going to be late for a date, or a wedding, or a birth or a funeral. It shows that they don't care that my friend who is a courier for the hospital is late for a blood supply delivery or that someone has to suffer in pain because he's late with their medication. It shows me that they don't even care if an ambulance is late, which tells me they don't care if someone lives or dies.

If you break the law, then you should get a ticket. If you break 10 laws, then you should get 10 tickets.

I respect people who promote healthy living. I do not respect people who break the law and show they don't care.

David Hansen

Winnipeg

(Editor's dumb comment: Our roadways are not playgrounds.)

Letter writer David Hansen (“They Simply Don’t Care,” Aug. 23) says “Critical Mass” cyclists show nothing but disrespect and disregard for their fellow citizens by holding a monthly rally in celebration of the freedom to ride. He seems to think that riders join in this demonstration only to thumb their noses at the authorities and put fellow citizens in life threatening circumstances. First of all he should lighten up on the hyperbole—nobody is going to die because they were forced to miss a green light on the way to a job interview at 5 pm on a Friday, or because a courier was late getting to the hospital with a supply of blood. These are not even reasonable arguments.

Secondly, he should note that many riders attend this rally precisely because they do care. They care about the environment, they care about the rights of those who wish to cycle as their main form of transportation. My aim as a participant in the last “Critical Mass” was not to mock motorists and flaunt the law. I went because I believed that our reliance on single-passenger vehicles needs to be questioned, and because I believe in the rights of future generations to inherit a sustainable and healthy planet. I didn’t go to protest people who are unable to walk to the grocery store, I went because I love my city, and I care about its future; and I am absolutely positive I was not the only one.

The Unlikely Summer

Sporadic writing this summer
and rough, working hands
not how I'd pictured it
but it's all good for me.

I like to sweat on floors
in fabulous homes
watch rich kids coast up
in their Lexus SUV's.

So interesting to see this city
one house at a time
a tourist in my own town
on a working visa.

When I see it all done
looking just right
I love the feeling
of accomplishment.

Rhetorical Questions

Can I stand atop
the Golden Mountain
looking down on you
shattered and mangled?

Is it right for me
to breathe the alpine air
when your lungs
have collapsed?

If I climb
all the way back down
will I be able
to help you at all?

Or will I cede
everything I have struggled for
and end up
lonely and broken too?

Why can’t I enjoy
this perfect vista
and these fabulous people
if it is my will?

Where is it written
that I am not entitled
to frolic
because you’ve stumbled hard?

Who made me
a slave to circumstance
isn’t life
my choice to make?

What if I want to be
everything you were not
how can your failure
stop me?

When will I meet someone
who understands
that your ghost
doesn’t haunt me anymore?

Stoicism is the answer

Here's a letter I sent to the Free Press today:

Your editorial “The war gets closer” points to the fact that air travel just got a whole lot more difficult for everyone, and ends by wishfully positing that the new restrictions will help reverse Canadian nonchalance towards terrorism. But threats like these should be treated with stoicism rather than the hyper-vigilance you praise. Are acts of terrorism so common on commercial jets that from now on we must suspect every mother with a bottle of formula boarding a plane as a potential terrorist? Should we lock down every airport in the world because of a closely monitored and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to terrorize? I think not.

Original Article:

EDITORIAL - The war gets closer

Fri Aug 11 2006

THE war on terror struck a little closer to home yesterday for travellers using Winnipeg's airports and other airports across Canada.

Travellers have become accustomed to the stringent security measures that were put in place after the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States, but the announcement by British authorities that they have uncovered a plot to blow up several aircraft flying from Heathrow Airport near London to the U.S. raised security requirements at airports around the world, including Winnipeg's, to new and extraordinary levels. Britain was on its highest level security alert and the United States went to "red alert" for the first time since 9/11.

The alleged plot involved smuggling liquid explosives and detonators aboard passenger planes concealed by suicide bombers in carry-on luggage. If it had been successfully implemented, the result would have been catastrophic, resulting in the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people and a crippling blow to the air travel industry.

Lives may have been saved by good police work and counter-terrorist intelligence, but terrorists did not fail entirely -- the affair is hurting the industry, at least for now. It has left Heathrow in a chaos of stranded travellers as flights were canceled and delayed, as they have been in Europe, the U.S. and Canada. This may quickly get back to a semblance of normality, but normal is not likely to be what normal used to be. The new security measures pretty well eliminate carry-on luggage. No liquids are allowed except for baby food, prescription medicines and milk that mothers bring for their babies -- mothers must sample the milk in the presence of security guards before it is allowed on the plane.

These measures may be annoying, but they cannot be considered extreme when the bombs that were intended to be used were to be made out of a sports drink mixed with a peroxide-based gel, detonated by an MP3 player, all of it corner grocery stuff and all of it easily taken aboard a plane until yesterday.

There will be delays at airports, inconveniences and frayed tempers. That is understandable -- airports are aggravating at the best of times. The anger, however, should not be directed at airport or security officials. It should be directed at al-Qaida and the other Islamist terrorist organizations that bring this threat of death to innocent civilians around the world.
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It should also be directed at ourselves. Canadians have been complacent about the war on terror -- Canada's contribution to that war in Afghanistan is increasingly unpopular. Even an alleged plot by Canadian Islamists to behead the prime minister and blow up buildings in Toronto did not really catch Canadians' attention. Perhaps airport line-ups and luggage restrictions can accomplish what the terrorists themselves could not.

Another Generation of "Me"

Here's a letter I sent to the Winnipeg Free Pressafter reading an article about the new generation of Yuppies (dubbed Yupsters by the ever astute Media). Read the original article by clicking on the title of this blog.

Yesterday’s article on Yupsters offended me to the core. As a an urban male in my middle 30’s I am deeply troubled that so many of my contemporaries have become such rampant and shameless consumers. I am sickened that they would carry their adolescence so deep into adulthood, and saddened that the freedoms and social justices our grandparents fought so hard for have led to yet another shallow and vain "Me Generation. "

Growing up I was always disgusted by the extravagant and hypocritical lifestyle of the original Yuppie set, and hoped my peers would see through the soulless lack of purpose that sort of existence represented. Unfortunately we seem to have chosen style and status over substance and sustainability once again.

Thoughts of a Floor Sander

Strange random thoughts pass through your head when you are sanding floors. Even with the iPod blasting away, and me singing loud into an empty, echo-filled home there is time aplenty for reflection. Today I was thinking about when I was a kid living in Richmond, B.C., and all the other kids I knew there. My two best friends were named Trevor Schaffer and Cory Blondheim (with an honourable mention to his older brother Kurt.) The Blondheims had a sister named Tracy who was friends with my sister.

Also, for some reason I kept thinking about the name Jodl, he was an early Nazi organizer/leader, and later Governor General of occupied Poland, who was tried at Nuremburg (I’m currently reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.) This English kid who lived in Richmond kept popping in my head when the name Jodl would float by, although I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his name. The English kid was nothing but a minor character in my circle of friends, but there he was at every corner today. Then I thought of Terry Metko, the only kid in my grade at J.T. Errington Elementary who was chubbier than I (he was also a pal), and an even more obese kid who lived across the street from my grandparents’ house in Tswaassen whose name was Jody (maybe that’s where the whole Jodl thing came from?)

The other name that kept popping up was Albrecht Dürer, a renaissance artist who was famous for his fabulously detailed woodcuts and engravings. I studied Dürer in Art History and was blown away by what amazing images he could create with a block of wood and some chisels. I was always very interested in print-making, more so than painting, because prints involve creating negative images from etchings on metal, wood, old spuds or whatever, which can later be changed infinitely depending on what ink/paint you use and what paper lies underneath. Also print-making is closely related to the printing press, and I have always loved books (especially illustrated ones).

Anyways, it’s totally weird what runs through one’s head when it is pretty much on auto-pilot. At the group home I would always be thinking one step ahead trying to resolve the current crisis, or blocking out the intolerable attitudes/work ethic of certain staff and the mental agony suffered by the clients, attempting all the while to maintain my sanity. With refinishing I mostly know what my day will be like, the only challenge, usually, is the physical fatigue. Since that doesn’t put to much stress on the thinking parts of my brain, they will wonder off to places I would never consciously send them.

The Nymph and the Satyr

Here's a poem I posted on the ALfA Blog last week in case you don't visit it regularily (you should be.)


I met a magical girl
on a dancing ground
under a star-scattered prairie sky.

She looked at me
with lust in her eyes
from then on we moved together.

Lost in Los de Abajo
we spun ourselves all around
became intoxicated with desire.

She was a complete awakening
young, sexy, smart
full of wild abandon.

There was nothing to do
but give in to Dionysius
feel the festival vibrate through each other.

I smelled her for days
heard her voice in the trees
there will always be Clareo.

Damn it's Hot

As you may know, it's f-ing hot in this city right now (currently 28°C, feels like 32°C with the humidity). Today I pretty much did nothing except go for an hour long bike ride that almost killed me. Same goes for the kitties (not that they do much on the best of days). I thought I'd share a picture of Merlin all maxed-out on the sofa, pooped from the heat and all that hair. This week we are starting a huge job in River Heights; 3 whole floors, 2000+ sq. ft. to refinish, it's going to be boiling all week, according to the weather network--can't wait!

I Am Reborn

Change has been a constant of late. There are so many revelations coming to me at once. I feel like I am coming alive, after having suppressed feelings and denied myself of so many things I am realizing that I am here to LIVE. It’s totally liberating. Other people’s problems don’t consume me anymore. I have made time for my wants, and I don’t feel bad about it.

Somebody turned on the light. There is a resplendent dawn in my mind. The air is summer cool and birds are singing. For the first time ever I am standing out on the porch breathing life in, loving it. There have been times when I felt free and full of adventure—like when I wondered through Parc Güell in Barcelona with a cheap bottle of wine and a point and shoot camera—but I have never felt as confident in myself as I do now.

There is nothing stopping me from doing whatever I want. The roadblocks that have slowed me down are lifted, the fog of purposelessness is evapourating. The sexual animal has been awakened, the critical mind quieted. Let life live and breathe, say my dreams, take what you need from it as you take oxygen from the air. Direct yourself to the most bountiful, beautiful fjord you can find and cast an anchor.

How Dare She Burst My Cherry?

I did a rare thing and went to Subway. Typically, if I go, I’ll get a veggie sub. Tonight I opted for the Spicy Italian. When it came time to pay the total was $6.77. I had a five, two loonies and $.76 in change. I asked the counter person if she would spot the penny. She said that, no, she could not allow me to pay a penny less as she could plainly see I had a loonie in my hand. She would accept only the correct amount. I was incredulous. How could someone deny a person the spotting of a penny and make them carry away $.99 in change?! Obviously the girl had an axe to grind, or just wanted to piss someone off. It made me mad at first, to be sure. I was like, “What the fuck? You’re going to be spiteful and deny me one fucking cent?”

Later I fantasized how I should have reacted. I should have taken the $.99 and thrown it down over the counter; I should have just given her the $.76 and walked out with the sub; I should have thrown the sandwich in her face and said, “you’re such a fuckin’ bitch, there’s no way I’d eat a sub you made.” Instead I did the Canadian thing and gave her the loonie, putting the change—without violence— back in my pocket. I did offer a stern argument, but in the end, I acquiesced.

It’s strange how such an act of petty inhumanity can make you so crazy. On the one hand, she was angry about something else, about being a sandwich artist, about her boyfriend/dad/boss who’s an asshole, maybe her cat just died. On the other, I shouldn’t care really whether I have a loonie in my pocket or a bunch of change totaling $.99. What difference does it make in the end, except for the inconvenience?

What pissed me off so bad is that she firmly and blatantly refused what I considered to be an undeniable request. Never in my life have I had someone, in any retail business, refuse to spot me the penny. How dare she burst my cherry!

Why do people steal bike seats?

Because they can. Who decided that bike seats should be held on with a quick release instead of a bolt, and why did this idea catch on? Do people really like walking around with their seat all the time? Is it some kind of anti-theft measure; i.e., if the seat is removed someone is less likely to want to ride away on a bike? Or is it because people like to move their seat regularly depending on their mood that day, or how far they feel like stretching their legs? I honestly can’t see any good reason to use a quick release for your seat when an Allen bolt would do the trick. Sure an asshole with a set of Allen keys may be cruising around looking for just the right seat, but this is far less likely than having some loogan steal a quick release seat just to be a shit disturber. Can anyone defend the need for the quick release seat, or is it just a dumb fad that manufacturers forced upon the bike buying public?

Why Kill Whales?

Here's a letter lifted from todays Winnipeg Free Press, and my response.



Abandon whale hunting

Re: To save the whales, (June 29).

I disagree with the Free Press editorial endorsing the resumption of commercial whaling. Surely we, as human beings, have progressed far enough in our development that we no longer need to exploit every other living creature on our planet as a source of food for ourselves. Why can we not stand back and let the whales live out their natural lives in peace?

The pro-whaling countries that are cited in the editorial, Japan, Iceland and Norway, are all wealthy, first-world nations, whose citizens are in no way lacking for abundant sources of food. They do not require whale meat for their sustenance, as they may have at one time. Leave aside the science of whether there are or are not sustainable populations of whales at this time (the same science that assured us that cod were abundant and could continue to be caught even as their numbers plummeted). Let us as human beings be magnanimous to another species for once, and abandon whale hunting once and for all.

JOSEPH LEVEN
Winnipeg

RESPONSE:

Joseph Leven makes a logical argument for a permanent ban on whale hunting, arguing it is unnecessary to hunt these creatures in a modern context. Unfortunately, economics, and the endevours of man are not typically ruled by what is necessary or logical. Our economy is shaped by myth, materialism, and a desire for ever increasing wealth, often in the face of what seems practical and worthy. Why else would there continue to be heavy subsidies for agricultural products no one wants? Why else would one kill seals for fur when synthetics are demonstrably warmer? Man has not proved magnanimous enough to stop futile destructive practices in the past, though I’m glad that people like Mr. Leven still believe we are capable of doing right.

The Times Change(d) Lives!

I wanted to share this e-mail I got today from John Scoles, President and Janitor of the Times Change(d) High and Lonesome Club. The building that the Times is located in was being considered for the wrecking-ball not too long ago, but it appears from Johnny's update that its historical significance has trumped the developer's desire to erect another cookie-cutter eatery.

Attention: Winnipeg, United States, and Mexico!!!

We Gotta Lotta Livin' To Do. We Shall Do It Together...


I don't know why Mark Fortune was born, and I don't know why he was such a remarkable human being, but I do know that his contribution to the universe is an exceptional one. If I can be half the ghost he is, my work on this planet will be good...

That damnably lurking star-crossed deal to take the Fortune Block away from us is yet again no more! Those who would conspire to replace us with a pseudo-Earl's have failed, and we live again to love each other another day. Come on down tomorrow night (today, Thursday, as you're reading this), and check out Canada's answer to Buck Owens, Mr. Scotty Campbell and his Wardenaires, and I'll happily explain it all to you...

WJS
J/P
TCH&LC
234M, WC

"You're all wool and a yard wide, dammit..." - Harrison Driscoll (good person who repeatedly dances on nothing and still gets the cosmic badge of honor pinned on him anyway.)

I'm Spying on You

There's a little counter on this blog that tracks all my visitors and where they come from, who referred them and other statistics; even what browser they use. I am fascinated by it. Most people use Windows XP and come from Winnipeg, but I have had visitors from all over the world. Europe, South America, Asia (no Africans, Ausies or Oceanians that I can recall though). I have one semi-frequent visitor who lives in Kildonan, Manitoba and uses Windows '98. This strikes me as a little odd 'cause Kildonan is at best a neighborhood of Winnipeg, and has never, as far as I know been a separate city or town (as places like St. Boniface may claim to have been.) Furthermore isn't there three Kildonans, none of which are actually called Kildonan (i.e. East, West and Old)? How did you get your computer to say it is from the mythical city of Kildonan?

The other day someone from New York/New Jersey arrived at my blog after having Googled my name (the reference part tells you what they were Googling if Google was the referrer). I don't think I know anyone who lives in New York/New Jersey anymore--the one guy I knew, Lou from Staten Island, moved to Vancouver Island a year or so ago. Nonetheless this New Yorker spent a decent amount of time on my blog, and obviously knew me by name. Interesting! Was this person an old high school classmate? A regular reader of the Winnipeg Free Press Tab section? And what about the rest of my worldly and local visitors. Who the hell are you? Really the whole sitemeter thing leads to more questions than answers. There are only a few people who I can be fairly sure I am identifying. My grandparents check in from time to time, they dial in from Vancouver; my mom if she visits subscribes to a small ISP called pacificcoast.net, my friend Toby lives in Goshen, Indiana--I sure as hell don't know anyone else from there, and Dave Macri checks in from Korea regularily. I can usually recognize myself because I use Safari 1.3(the Mac browser). My buddy Mike Jack who works for the city of Winnipeg has a rare ISP, as does my friend Dr. Steve if he logs in from the HSC. Other than that it's a great big mystery. Anyways, now you know I'm spying; continue reading at your own risk.

Tokyo Rose

Memory is a funny thing. This morning, out of nowhere, I awoke with a snippet of a song in my head. This particular song is one I probably haven't heard in more than 20 years. There is no reason for it to be in my head. Just now I've been trying to Google the lyrics, so I could post a link to them. But I must be way off in how I remember them, because nothing's coming up. Up until a few minutes ago I was pretty sure the song was called Tokyo Rose and it was by Men at Work, but now I'm not so sure. Here is the snippet of the song, as I remember it.

You tell a story like Tokyo Rose
I get the picture from the stains on your clothes
didn't they tell you about the shape I'm in
in this condition of carlo sin?

Does anyone else remember this ditty? There's obviously no such thing as "carlo sin", but I guess I thought it was some kind of Australian word like "Vegemite" (I was about 10 or 12). I swear this song isn't one I made up--although I did make up a lot of songs when I was a boy. I couldn't have made it up, how would I know about Tokyo Rose?

Inside the Compound

This is an entry from my Travel Log 2001: The Official Diary of My European Vacation

Albergue Richard Schirrman
September 29, 2001

This place is like a prison. There are bars on the window, and one must buzz at the gate to get in. It is located in a gigantic park which once was the royal hunting grounds. Up the street from the entrance is where the hookers pedal their trade. Apparently prostitution is sanctioned inside the park, and there are condoms everywhere. I have spent almost my entire time here in Madrid utterly lost. Last night when I arrived I missed the turn from the Metro station and ended up walking the long way around the park. It was a fucker of a hike with all the weight on my back. Finally I arrived, tired and hungry, and just sat down to eat the remnants of food that were still in my pack when a girl asked me for a light. I ended up talking to this Finnish beauty for the rest of the night, forgetting about the food and how tired I was, etc. Finally Lisao(?) asked what time it was, and I said, “Holy fuck, it’s 2:00.” Good night darling. After struggling with the lock for about 10 minutes my Italian roommate finally opened the door for me, and I slept hard and had many dreams.

The next day (today) I got up in time for breakfast (barely) and had a nice hot shower which was only marred when I jammed my thumb when I got in and slipped. Refreshed I paid for another night, after having fought through the German school group at reception, and headed out the gate. Of course I had no idea where I was going because I came in the wrong way the night before. I made another circuitous route around the park, getting propositioned by one of the 10 AM hookers, who must be on some sort of 24 hour rotating shift, before finding Metro “Lago” and heading for “Sol” the centre of Spain. It is from Sol that all highways are measured in Spain, apparently there is some marker in the square where the 0 km is, but I didn’t find it. Instead I got lost trying to follow the Lonely Planet walking tour of Madrid. Even with 3 maps of the city at hand I managed to get thoroughly lost until around 2:00 when I found the museum I was looking for. This museum houses Picasso’s famous “Guernica” and an impressive collection of modern art (primarily Spanish) with an especially extensive section of Miro. So I did the Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, highlight of my day before going off in search of the soccer stadium where later tonight Real Madrid is playing. I walked through many empty streets (Spain being absolute deadsville-ish at 4:30) before finding a Metro station. When I finally got to the stadium (a 15 minute walk from the Metro) it was entirely closed with no sign of life except the dozens of tour busses parked outside. Absolutely worn out I got on a bus (which apparently uses a different ticket from the 10 pass Metro ticket I bought) and the bus driver told me something I didn’t understand (story of my life in Madrid). So finally I made it back here to the compound (having found the right way at last) and am now sitting in the courtyard listening to the screams of the roller coaster on one side (there’s an amusement park here for those not old enough or male enough to enjoy the hookers) and the sound of the Metro train on the other. Will I brave my way back to the stadium later in search of a ticket for tonight’s game? Ask my aching feet.

RE: San Sebastian

I traveled with my ami from Montréal, Françios, who I met in Bordeaux, and again in Anglet, to San S. we met Andrew (an Ausie) on the train and got a room at Pension Boulevard for the first night. We totally blew our budgets on beer and tapas etc. Next day F. and I checked into the hostel and spent the day on the beach, enjoying the beautiful weather, a great view, and some very nice Spanish babes (many of whom were topless). Next day we went to the Guggenheim Bilbao and saw an exhibit about a revolutionary media/video/performance artist whose name I forget. That night we went out with Gary (another Ausie) to “Tas, Tas” a bar in St. S. and enjoyed some of the night life. Next day was cold and shitty, and it was time to get out. Busses for Barcelona had gone so I ended up in Madrid lost and tired.

The Zeparzanians Take No Chances

The Zeparzanians from Tölaris 9 send greetings. We are the Törlogs, their slave race. We have been sent in search of “intelligent” life. So far you are our tenth discovery, although in truth “intelligent” is a stretch for you. We left Tölaris 9 a million years ago (by your standards) and will carry on our mission until we reach the end of the universe.

When we need new ships and more bodies to serve on them we colonize. We have stolen many useful tricks of prosperous existence from the other intelligent life forms (ILF’s) we’ve encountered. You haven’t been of much use to us, but you have some good drugs, and we like your handwriting; especially the Arabic stuff.

Ultimately though we don’t really have time for you. You are small fry, a bunch of little dinks, lightweights outside the scope of our ILF studies. Once we have catalogued your accomplishments, such as they are, and stocked our holds with a representative sample of your “evolved” species (among other wonders of your planet) we will torch your atmosphere and take our leave.

The Incredible Spider-like Things No One Has Ever Seen

The big joke among us is that you don’t even know we exist. We have watched you evolve from nothing, noted every development in every culture and still managed to keep our movements invisible from you. We conduct random experiments on you daily, but you remain completely unaware.

Lately I’ve been stealing duct tape from my current resident, just to fuck him up. He’s bought about four rolls since he moved in last September—all gone. I’ve brought one out once in a while (when he doesn’t need it, naturally) then he thinks he has some. But it always goes back into hiding before he wants it.

Actually, the whole block is collecting duct tape. We are betting on one another’s men as to who will buy the most rolls. The bounty is a little runt of a cat who broke our ancient compact: sworn secrecy for the price of life. A cat is a delicacy with us, since so few are suicidal; we really enjoy hearing them whimper while we suck them dry, but we are generally to lazy to stalk the underfed strays. This particular cat was no kitten, and it was certainly no mistake. The little bastard lead his man to a giiaraiig in the midst of reading the Findings page of Harper’s Magazine.

Typically a giiaraiig would just go ahead and feast on the cat himself, but yoiiroy was already quite full from the human—an impressive 370 pound man. I still don’t know how or why he was so eager to gorge himself on such a massive being, especially when a suicide would have been so easy to fake: I mean 370 lbs., what’s there to live for?

Actually, I know the real reason is because he wanted to offer up the cat for a big collection of duct tape, and because he has a taste for human blood. Come to think of it, I’m not sure he didn’t make up the whole story about being interrupted over Harper’s, sounds a little to convenient to me.

In any case, the duct tape is for an art project/experiment yoiiroy has concocted. He intends to build a giant giiaraiig out of the tape and erect atop Garbage Hill, the highest peak in the city. No one will know what it is or who put it there, but god will you wonder. It will be the greatest piece of Mystery Art this city has ever seen!

Of course there is resistance among the older establishment, some of whom know this plan. No one’s too worried though—you’ll never figure it out. We will inside laugh like nitrous-oxide huffing hyenas, as you puzzle over this one. I can’t wait to see the look on Barb Stewarts face as she introduces it on CKY News. Hopeless humans, how we love toying with you, even though our mission is to collect data as empirically as possible. Sometimes a gag is irresistible.

No more IMHO?

It seems that The Winnipeg Free Press is no longer publishing the IMHO column I used to write for occasionally. Here's an article I sumbitted last week, hoping that they would still be open to running it. (I haven't heard back officially from the editor, but I'm assuming they've stopped them, because I haven't seen any for a month or more.)

Recently, after having a couple of pints at my local pub I decided that I’d had enough booze, and wanted to switch to water. The pub keeps a jug at the side of the bar, typically stocked with plastic cups for customers to help themselves. On that particular night there were no cups next to the jug, but I noticed a few in behind, along the far wall. Given the pre-established self-serve philosophy, I thought I would just reach over and grab a cup.

Huge mistake.

Next thing I know the bartender is laying into me, telling me that I’d breached some unspoken frontier that cannot be over-stepped by any customer who wishes to leave the pub with all his limbs. “I’ve seen people have the s--- kicked out of them for less,” he warned me.

I thought his defensiveness was unwarranted—and I certainly didn’t appreciate being threatened over such a minor infringement—especially since I wasn’t aware that I had just crossed over onto holy ground. But it just goes to show how snarky even the nicest people can become when you innocently tip-toe across their boundaries.

This same pub has two single washrooms on the main floor. One is labeled “Men” the other “Women.” I’ve always questioned the wisdom of having separate loos for men and women, but especially when the toilet is a single. Does it matter if the person who used the john before you was of a different gender? Personally I don’t believe it does, and so I feel free to use either washroom at will.

I’m not the only liberated patron at this particular establishment, but I’ll often get a W.T.F. look from a girl who’s been waiting patiently for the door to open. I always hope that she’ll think about it for a second and realize the validity of my action, but I’m never sure. She’s probably just as likely to think I’m an ignorant slob, or someone with a bladder problem. Ç’est la vie. In my defense, I can assure all the suspicious ladies out there that I do lift and then replace the seat.

There are a lot of equally strange North American customs that anyone who’s been further afield may start to question. The open liquor laws come to mind. One night, before going to this same local pub—where men like me pee in the ladies room, and bartenders threaten bodily harm for stepping over invisible lines—my friend and I were “warming up” with a couple of drinks at his place. I was half way through a beer when his wife insisted we take the dog out for a poop.

Was I going to leave my half finished brew to warm up on the counter, or ignore the statute and continue to responsibly enjoy the beverage a hard week of work had afforded me? Weighing my options I decided that it was worth the risk to pull a Julian and roam the park, albeit not a trailer park, with drink in hand.

Oddly this was not the liberating experience I’d hoped it would be. Instead I felt like a criminal, like what I was doing was somehow wrong. I wasn’t aware that I had gotten so old and priggish—it was a bit of a wake-up call really. It’s not like I was Jim Lahey, a stumbling, drunken, public embarrassment to myself. I was just having a beer. And yet I felt the sting of public scorn.

Friends who have come back from Vegas or Greece always comment about how you can walk down any street with a Heineken in hand, as if this were the greatest benefit bestowed upon man. And I have to wonder why we are so prudish and puritanical. Where’s the wisdom in disallowing people the right to publicly consume products so widely and legally available?

In the end I’m all for questioning absurd boundaries, and breaking down worn out conventions. If I have to step on a few toes and risk a limb or two, so be it. How else does one discover what society’s assumptions are based on? How else does one come to understand our laws and limitations, and the rationale that supports them?

Despite his curiosity Ryan Kinrade has no plans to challenge the custom of separate Men’s and Women’s change rooms at the beach or elsewhere.

Another Old, Untitled Love Poem

I don't know why I feel the need to consistantly post these old journal entries, but I think some of them are worthy of publication. Maybe it's because I have reams of pages about love and life that I never showed anyone. I was so repressed for so long. If I'd had a bit more confidence I might of submitted some of this stuff, or—god only knows—have had the guts to tell some of these girls I liked them out loud. Maybe it's just because I have nothing new to post and it's been a few days since I've updated. For whatever reason, I'm telling you now. Feel free to skip the rest if you're not romantically inclined.

When we touch I feel nothing but you
it can be light as a feather
and still there is electricity.

It burns me deep down inside when I wonder
if you feel what I do
if our lips could meet one of these days.

Patience is my game
waiting for the most beautiful girl I know
to be ready for the gifts I offer.

Knowing always it could come
before or after my time
so hoping it is now.

There is a fire burning between us
two hearts have found one another
in such a strange place.

We have never spoken a word about this
but it is comfortably understood
as it is between man & woman.

I will answer all of your demands
and worship your femininity forever
if you make me yours.

Time with you is immeasurable
I spend a thousand eternities
when I look in your eyes.

Gone Fishin'

Damon "Dink Toucher" Mitch reels in a dinky Jack.

On the weekend some buddies (D.Mitch, Dr. Steve, Mike, Ross) and I went fishing around Pointe du Bois {It's located on the Winnipeg River 160 km Northeast of Winnipeg next to the Whiteshell Provincial Forest. The town was originally founded to support the Pointe du Bois (hydro electric) Generating Station, completed in 1926}. There was too much food and beer to get real serious about the fishing, which is kind of too bad because I would have been happy to eat some walleye. But plenty of little Jacks (aka dinks) along with a few Bass (which can't be kept due to conservation restrictions) were caught and released, and a good time was had by all.

Everyone was Shotgunnin'.

In Defense of Cyclists

Monday must be letter writing day. Here's a letter based on an article in Saturday's Free Press. I won't reproduce the entire article (you can read it by following this link if you have a subscription,) but I'll give a taste of what was, in my opinion, the most objectionable paragraph, along with my letter.

Dallas Hansen wrote:

Bicycle activists are prone to a certain moral elitism, a holier-than-thou attitude that prompts them to look with disdain upon those who fail to make the sacrifice of living by the bike. But bicycles -- regardless of their benefits to human health and the environment -- will never be embraced as a primary mode of transportation by any more than a small percentage of the commuting population: 2.5 per cent for the inner city, and 1.5 per cent for the entire city, according to the 2001 census. Beyond the limitations of winter riding, there are the issues of helmet hair, chain oil on one's trousers, body odour and limited carrying capacity -- all of which will continue to keep the bicyclist among a small minority.

I replied:

I will not argue Dallas Hansen'’s weekly cry for better public transit, but I do object to his recent opinion, that cycling is, and always will be, a fringe activity ("Bikes aren't answer to reduced gridlock," June 3). I don'’t understand why an educated and well spoken columnist like Mr. Hansen would call down a significant subculture of equally educated and forward thinking people based on the stagy demonstrations of few "“holier-than-thou"” activists--a moniker that often describes him as well as anyone.

Blind as he is to his own agenda Mr. Hansen uses census data to assert only a small percentage of Winnipegers are ever likely to choose cycling as a form of commuting. But attitudes and economics, like census data, change with time. Concerns about helmet hair and chain grease on pant legs aside, cycling can be made a safe, acceptable and economical alternative for a larger portion of citizens through increased education and infrastructure. However the road is made more difficult when would-be opinion makers dismissively label the cycling population as a small minority of elitist revolutionaries.