You’d have thought the world was ending. Traffic was gridlocked for blocks. At the grocery store, the aisles were jammed with aggressive, monomaniacal shoppers, and the checkout lineups were backlogged into a huge interlocking mess of people and carts and crying babies.
Had war been declared? Was an alien invasion underway?
No. It was a Friday night and there was a bit of a snowstorm in the forecast for Saturday.
As it turned out, it was a pretty decent little snowstorm, but nothing really worth panicking over. Still, Halifax was in a state of chaos both before and after the storm.
I’m actually a big believer in being prepared. I’ve always got my little emergency lantern and battery-operated radio on standby, plus a few tins of beans and bottles of water stashed away in the basement. Still, I really don’t see why a simple snowstorm should throw everyone into such a frenzy of grocery stockpiling. I wouldn’t have even been at the store myself, but it happened to be my week to take my mother-in-law shopping for groceries.
So there we were, when we finally got through the traffic, helplessly getting bumped and jostled around the grocery store aisles. Some aisles were impassible, completely crammed with carts. Some shelves were bare, and I mean stripped, of whatever had been for sale there a little earlier. One woman who passed us rolled her eyes and said, “Some guy just ran right into me with his cart and then gave ME a dirty look!”
I had to work pretty hard to be Zen about it all. Close eyes. Breathe in. Open eyes, reach gently for chicken soup. Ignore woman who just knocked entire shelf of cans almost onto partner’s head. Exhale.
And I do have a theory about what was going on. I think we Haligonians have a pretty serious case of what I’m calling Post-Juan-Induced Panic Disorder, or PJIPD (pronounce it with me, “puh-jip’-DUH”). We pretty much all got caught with our safety-pants down (is there such a thing as safety-pants?) when Hurricane Juan hit, and again, when White Juan left us buried under what appeared to be the beginning of a new ice age.
We vowed to never again be stuck in a state of emergency without at least a week’s supply of food, water, and Captain Morgan. So with every new forecast of snow or high winds, we all rush out to stock up, just in case we get hung out to dry, once again, by the power company or the plow.
Sure, it’s an over-reaction to an ordinary winter forecast. But on this particular weekend, as if to prove me wrong, most of Halifax did end up stuck indoors for the better part of the next day, because the folks who manage the city’s snow-clearing crews were so utterly unprepared for a snowfall in November. As they scrambled to get plows on the road, they managed to demonstrate, once again, that a tiny bit of weather DOES equal a near-state of emergency in Halifax, thereby justifying and reinforcing the need for a good, pre-storm panic.
If this is what it’s gonna be like every time we get a storm this winter, I may have to do some stockpiling myself. Fill the cupboard with nuts and berries and go into hibernation. Somebody wake me up when the last snow is melting, so I can start freaking out about whether I’ve got enough sunscreen to make it through the summer.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Day I Saved Three Lives
They told me I had just saved three lives, so I proudly went about the rest of my day repeating that fact. “I just saved three lives,” I said to the grocery store checkout clerk. “I saved three lives today,” I told the lady at the lotto booth.
Last month, Canadian Blood Services put out a call for blood donors due to a national shortage. The last time I had given blood was many years ago – back when blood donation was still in the hands of the Red Cross. I had been a semi-regular donor since the age of sixteen, but that last time, the nurse (perhaps she was having a bad day) told me my blood was coming out too slowly, and suggested I probably shouldn’t come back.
So I didn’t. For fifteen, maybe twenty years. Then, when I heard about this shortage, I thought, “What the heck is keeping me from donating again? I’m healthy, I don’t mind needles, I can find the time. And that cranky nurse is definitely long gone.” So I made an appointment, went down to the clinic, and was in and out in an hour. I would like to point out to whoever’s listening that my blood came out in a mere ten minutes! And I was probably thanked for donating more than half a dozen times in the course of that hour, so it was an excellent self-esteem boost.
Jillian Brown, of Canadian Blood Services, says people have really stepped up since the recent call for donations. “We actually had an incredible response from Canadians coast to coast, and we are no longer in ‘urgent need’ mode. That said, blood has a shelf life of 42 days, and platelets have a shelf life of five days, so that's a really big challenge.”
Brown explained to me that each donation is separated into three different products (whole blood components, plasma and platelets) which can go to three different patients – thus the “saving three lives” figure. She also told me that they are heading into a really challenging period – the holidays.
“The need for blood is constant because of its limited shelf life,” she says. “But right now, forecasts are showing that more blood is going to be going out the door than coming in between December 1 and January 2.”
No doubt some people stay away because they’re just not fond of being poked with sharp instruments. “You know what?” Brown says. “We're not going to lie. We are asking people to come and help, but we are going to put a needle in your arm.” She laughs when I tell her I have a friend whose greatest fear is the pricking of the fingertip. “Yes,” she admits, “we are also going to prick your finger, and it's going to hurt a little bit, but not for very long.”
So what is it that keeps people from donating over the holidays? Brown acknowledges that it’s just a busier time of year for most folks. “People are preoccupied. There's the regular holiday stuff going on - kids’ school plays, Christmas concerts, Christmas parties, shopping. Blood donation just isn't top of mind.”
So here’s your reminder. It takes about an hour. It doesn’t hurt much, and you get free cookies and juice. Plus you get bragging rights for the next 56 days – until your next donation. And it seems like a pretty good Christmas gift for those three recipients, who might not behaving a holiday that’s quite as merry as yours.
Last month, Canadian Blood Services put out a call for blood donors due to a national shortage. The last time I had given blood was many years ago – back when blood donation was still in the hands of the Red Cross. I had been a semi-regular donor since the age of sixteen, but that last time, the nurse (perhaps she was having a bad day) told me my blood was coming out too slowly, and suggested I probably shouldn’t come back.
So I didn’t. For fifteen, maybe twenty years. Then, when I heard about this shortage, I thought, “What the heck is keeping me from donating again? I’m healthy, I don’t mind needles, I can find the time. And that cranky nurse is definitely long gone.” So I made an appointment, went down to the clinic, and was in and out in an hour. I would like to point out to whoever’s listening that my blood came out in a mere ten minutes! And I was probably thanked for donating more than half a dozen times in the course of that hour, so it was an excellent self-esteem boost.
Jillian Brown, of Canadian Blood Services, says people have really stepped up since the recent call for donations. “We actually had an incredible response from Canadians coast to coast, and we are no longer in ‘urgent need’ mode. That said, blood has a shelf life of 42 days, and platelets have a shelf life of five days, so that's a really big challenge.”
Brown explained to me that each donation is separated into three different products (whole blood components, plasma and platelets) which can go to three different patients – thus the “saving three lives” figure. She also told me that they are heading into a really challenging period – the holidays.
“The need for blood is constant because of its limited shelf life,” she says. “But right now, forecasts are showing that more blood is going to be going out the door than coming in between December 1 and January 2.”
No doubt some people stay away because they’re just not fond of being poked with sharp instruments. “You know what?” Brown says. “We're not going to lie. We are asking people to come and help, but we are going to put a needle in your arm.” She laughs when I tell her I have a friend whose greatest fear is the pricking of the fingertip. “Yes,” she admits, “we are also going to prick your finger, and it's going to hurt a little bit, but not for very long.”
So what is it that keeps people from donating over the holidays? Brown acknowledges that it’s just a busier time of year for most folks. “People are preoccupied. There's the regular holiday stuff going on - kids’ school plays, Christmas concerts, Christmas parties, shopping. Blood donation just isn't top of mind.”
So here’s your reminder. It takes about an hour. It doesn’t hurt much, and you get free cookies and juice. Plus you get bragging rights for the next 56 days – until your next donation. And it seems like a pretty good Christmas gift for those three recipients, who might not behaving a holiday that’s quite as merry as yours.
Friday, November 28, 2008
My Own Personalized Polygraph
I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s time to hire a personal assistant; someone to help with the many, many challenging tasks that make up my busy days as a writer and filmmaker. But, as we have all learned recently about Halifax's hiring policies, one can never be too careful when it comes to taking on a new employee. With these exemplary hiring practices in mind, I have devised my own list of polygraph / ”integrity interview” questions, sure to weed out the morally ambiguous and those who might turn out to be a bad “fit” for me and my company. Just strap all those wires around yourself and relax. Here we go:
If you write a personal reminder to take your empty lunch container home on an office sticky note, is that stealing from the corporation? Have you ever done this? Did you replace the sticky note the following day? What about the ink? Please answer with a simple yes or no.
I’ve assigned you the task of watching the HRM council meeting on TV and taking notes about anything interesting that happens. Are you a) shocked by the mind-numbingly slow pace of the meeting, b) shocked by the mind-numbingly mundane subjects under discussion, or c) shocked that any employer would be cruel enough to assign this task?
Describe yourself in three words. Do not use the words “intelligent,” “capable,” or “skilled,” but impress me anyway.
If you were a character on The Office, who would you be? The competitive and sycophantic Dwight Schrute, or the uptight and fastidious Angela Martin? Does your character choice reflect your real-life experience with sticky-note theft?
Do you believe that toilet paper should dispense from the top of the roll or the bottom? (Because I am convinced that this reflects much more about one’s larger philosophy of life, employment will be dependent upon the correct answer to this question. Also, roll-changing will definitely fall under your job description.)
If you could have any superpower, what would you choose? (Please note: x-ray vision / ability to see through peoples’ clothes is already taken.) Would your superpower enable you to acquire double-shot, non-fat, medium-wet cappuccinos on a moment’s notice?
If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be? Supplementary question: If you choose “maple,” will there be a plastic bag fluttering in your highest branches, a full year after it has originally entangled itself there?
What is the capital of the country of Africa? (Bonus points and an appearance on Larry King for the correct answer.)
Your iPod only has space for one more song. Which of the following do you choose:
- “Sound of Success” by Jenn Grant
- “I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory” by Kathleen Edwards
- “Nowhere Fast” by Mary J. Blige
- “Temporary Hell” by Christina Martin or
- “Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss?
And finally: you decide to make the 230 km trip to Digby in your new Porsche, traveling at 80 km/hour. You make the return trip at a rate of 50 km/hour. What was your average speed for the entire trip? Follow-up questions: Why would you drive a Porsche at such crazy low speeds, and how can you afford a new Porsche on the salary I’m offering? I think we need to have a little chat about where you’re finding this extra cash. Re-selling company sticky notes?
If you write a personal reminder to take your empty lunch container home on an office sticky note, is that stealing from the corporation? Have you ever done this? Did you replace the sticky note the following day? What about the ink? Please answer with a simple yes or no.
I’ve assigned you the task of watching the HRM council meeting on TV and taking notes about anything interesting that happens. Are you a) shocked by the mind-numbingly slow pace of the meeting, b) shocked by the mind-numbingly mundane subjects under discussion, or c) shocked that any employer would be cruel enough to assign this task?
Describe yourself in three words. Do not use the words “intelligent,” “capable,” or “skilled,” but impress me anyway.
If you were a character on The Office, who would you be? The competitive and sycophantic Dwight Schrute, or the uptight and fastidious Angela Martin? Does your character choice reflect your real-life experience with sticky-note theft?
Do you believe that toilet paper should dispense from the top of the roll or the bottom? (Because I am convinced that this reflects much more about one’s larger philosophy of life, employment will be dependent upon the correct answer to this question. Also, roll-changing will definitely fall under your job description.)
If you could have any superpower, what would you choose? (Please note: x-ray vision / ability to see through peoples’ clothes is already taken.) Would your superpower enable you to acquire double-shot, non-fat, medium-wet cappuccinos on a moment’s notice?
If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be? Supplementary question: If you choose “maple,” will there be a plastic bag fluttering in your highest branches, a full year after it has originally entangled itself there?
What is the capital of the country of Africa? (Bonus points and an appearance on Larry King for the correct answer.)
Your iPod only has space for one more song. Which of the following do you choose:
- “Sound of Success” by Jenn Grant
- “I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory” by Kathleen Edwards
- “Nowhere Fast” by Mary J. Blige
- “Temporary Hell” by Christina Martin or
- “Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss?
And finally: you decide to make the 230 km trip to Digby in your new Porsche, traveling at 80 km/hour. You make the return trip at a rate of 50 km/hour. What was your average speed for the entire trip? Follow-up questions: Why would you drive a Porsche at such crazy low speeds, and how can you afford a new Porsche on the salary I’m offering? I think we need to have a little chat about where you’re finding this extra cash. Re-selling company sticky notes?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
No Cats Sucked Out Today
When the man from Clean Nova Scotia stuck that giant fan in my doorway, I was a little concerned that the cat might get sucked through it and end up as a million little fur bits in the front yard, but Charles Banting calmly assured me that no cats had been sucked out yet. At least, not on his watch.
Freaked out by the huge jump in my estimated heating costs for this winter, I had decided to have an audit done to find out what I could do to improve the energy-efficiency of my sixty-year-old house. It just seemed like a good idea, because the building method employed in the construction of my house is commonly referred to by the technical term: “slapdash.”
So it was a little unnerving to watch as my flimsy little house was in the process of being depressurized by a turbine that looked – and sounded – frighteningly like a jet engine. Disturbing, but fascinating. After all, I was paying this man to help me determine just how leaky, inefficient, and poorly-insulated my house was. As if I didn’t know.
In fact, I didn’t know. Oh, I knew the windows were drafty and the walls were poorly insulated. I had seen the workers laugh as they pulled seaweed from between the walls when they replaced a window in my kitchen a few years ago. But my man Charles, expert energy-efficiency auditor from Clean NS, gave me a whole new perspective on my holey house as we explored its every little nook and cranny.
The nice thing about Charles was that he was completely non-judgmental. Did he roll his eyes at the little flap of weather-stripping hanging half-off the outside door frame? No. Did he for a moment suggest that I had been lax in not caulking the obvious gaps around my basement windows? No.
If anything, Charles was more than willing to simply share his abundant knowledge. And I, apparently, had a lot to learn. The first thing Charles taught me was that I need to separate the unheated spaces from the heated spaces in my house. My attic, for instance, is apparently sucking massive amounts of energy as I allow my precious heat to seep into it and the unwanted cold air out of it. Unfortunately, it’s kind of a HUGE job to insulate it properly. So that one is going on the “long term solutions” side of the equation. Also on that side, the biggest heat-sucking space in my house – the basement. Apparently the whole darn thing needs to be insulated. That massive job won’t be happening on my freelancer’s salary any time soon (gentle hint to Editor).
I did, however, learn that I can alleviate the basement leakage situation somewhat by simply insulating the rather odd gap between the top of my foundation and the bottom of my house. Don’t ask. But, that one, I’m pretty sure, is do-able.
Also do-able: all those little air-sealing things, like putting foam fillers in electrical outlets, calking around windows and weather-stripping around doors. Unfortunately, those things aren’t going to earn me much in the way of government financial incentives. But they can improve my home’s rather dismal energy efficiency rating of 46 points by 1.9 points! (The average rating of a house the same age in Nova Scotia is 51, and the highest is 80.)
Oh well. I’ll do what I can, and there’s always next year. For now I’ll just continue to keep the thermostat low and cuddle up to the kitty – who’s happily still in one piece – for warmth.
Freaked out by the huge jump in my estimated heating costs for this winter, I had decided to have an audit done to find out what I could do to improve the energy-efficiency of my sixty-year-old house. It just seemed like a good idea, because the building method employed in the construction of my house is commonly referred to by the technical term: “slapdash.”
So it was a little unnerving to watch as my flimsy little house was in the process of being depressurized by a turbine that looked – and sounded – frighteningly like a jet engine. Disturbing, but fascinating. After all, I was paying this man to help me determine just how leaky, inefficient, and poorly-insulated my house was. As if I didn’t know.
In fact, I didn’t know. Oh, I knew the windows were drafty and the walls were poorly insulated. I had seen the workers laugh as they pulled seaweed from between the walls when they replaced a window in my kitchen a few years ago. But my man Charles, expert energy-efficiency auditor from Clean NS, gave me a whole new perspective on my holey house as we explored its every little nook and cranny.
The nice thing about Charles was that he was completely non-judgmental. Did he roll his eyes at the little flap of weather-stripping hanging half-off the outside door frame? No. Did he for a moment suggest that I had been lax in not caulking the obvious gaps around my basement windows? No.
If anything, Charles was more than willing to simply share his abundant knowledge. And I, apparently, had a lot to learn. The first thing Charles taught me was that I need to separate the unheated spaces from the heated spaces in my house. My attic, for instance, is apparently sucking massive amounts of energy as I allow my precious heat to seep into it and the unwanted cold air out of it. Unfortunately, it’s kind of a HUGE job to insulate it properly. So that one is going on the “long term solutions” side of the equation. Also on that side, the biggest heat-sucking space in my house – the basement. Apparently the whole darn thing needs to be insulated. That massive job won’t be happening on my freelancer’s salary any time soon (gentle hint to Editor).
I did, however, learn that I can alleviate the basement leakage situation somewhat by simply insulating the rather odd gap between the top of my foundation and the bottom of my house. Don’t ask. But, that one, I’m pretty sure, is do-able.
Also do-able: all those little air-sealing things, like putting foam fillers in electrical outlets, calking around windows and weather-stripping around doors. Unfortunately, those things aren’t going to earn me much in the way of government financial incentives. But they can improve my home’s rather dismal energy efficiency rating of 46 points by 1.9 points! (The average rating of a house the same age in Nova Scotia is 51, and the highest is 80.)
Oh well. I’ll do what I can, and there’s always next year. For now I’ll just continue to keep the thermostat low and cuddle up to the kitty – who’s happily still in one piece – for warmth.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Beach Ettiquette?
It was mid-September when I finally made it to the beach for the first time this summer. The crashing waves, the singing birds, the clear blue skies, and a few golden hours to just lie back and relax in the warmth of the long-awaited sun. It was fantastic! I went boogey-boarding and splashed around in the waves for 45 minutes. I was having a really great time…until they arrived.
You know them – the family with the cooler so heavy it takes three people to carry it. The family who chooses a spot on the beach not five feet from yours. The family who – inexplicably – smells of cigarette smoke even though none of them are smoking at that moment. And, worst of all, the family who apparently can’t bear to listen to the sound of the ocean even though they’ve just driven 50 kilometers to be near it – so they haul a great big freakin’ radio out to the middle of nowhere and fire up some half-tuned, static-ridden, tinny little radio station.
To say that this makes me crazy would be an understatement. But did I ask these beachgoers to turn their radio off? No. I’m not a big fan of confrontations, and have I mentioned that all of the people in this family were, uh, large? And that they had a lot of tattoos? Serious tattoos, not the girly little tramp-stamp kind of tattoos. And that we were 50 kilometers from any decent medical facility?
It made me think about the ways people behave in public spaces. Is there such a thing as beach etiquette? Is the beach an “anything goes” kind of place, where my right to have a quiet and peaceful time extends only as far as the edge of my faux-Mexican beach blanket?
I guess it depends on the culture of the beach you’re on. I was at Martinique on Nova Scotia's Eastern Shore, which I would consider a “nature lovers’” beach, as opposed to Queensland, which might be considered a “party people” beach. Maybe these folks were confused about just where they’d ended up. (Perhaps the weighty cooler was not entirely filled with Grape Nehi and cherry cola, and they’d gotten into it before they arrived?) Maybe they didn’t think that doing back-flips in front of me was spoiling my view of the water. Perhaps they considered themselves very nice to look at, in an “animal kingdom” sort of way. Anyway, my point is that I was not interested in any kind of social interaction with them, or anyone else on the beach, really. I just wanted to hang with my peeps and enjoy the sun and the soothing sounds of nature, but that clearly was not going to be possible any more. So I packed up my beach blanket and went home.
It’s not as pathetic as it sounds; I was almost ready to go home anyway. And I did have another chance to hit the beach one more time. That’s all I wanted: just one more gorgeous day to simply relax by the sea, soak up some rays, and enjoy the peace and relative quiet of the pounding surf. Without static or back-flips. Would Emily Post say that’s too much to ask?
You know them – the family with the cooler so heavy it takes three people to carry it. The family who chooses a spot on the beach not five feet from yours. The family who – inexplicably – smells of cigarette smoke even though none of them are smoking at that moment. And, worst of all, the family who apparently can’t bear to listen to the sound of the ocean even though they’ve just driven 50 kilometers to be near it – so they haul a great big freakin’ radio out to the middle of nowhere and fire up some half-tuned, static-ridden, tinny little radio station.
To say that this makes me crazy would be an understatement. But did I ask these beachgoers to turn their radio off? No. I’m not a big fan of confrontations, and have I mentioned that all of the people in this family were, uh, large? And that they had a lot of tattoos? Serious tattoos, not the girly little tramp-stamp kind of tattoos. And that we were 50 kilometers from any decent medical facility?
It made me think about the ways people behave in public spaces. Is there such a thing as beach etiquette? Is the beach an “anything goes” kind of place, where my right to have a quiet and peaceful time extends only as far as the edge of my faux-Mexican beach blanket?
I guess it depends on the culture of the beach you’re on. I was at Martinique on Nova Scotia's Eastern Shore, which I would consider a “nature lovers’” beach, as opposed to Queensland, which might be considered a “party people” beach. Maybe these folks were confused about just where they’d ended up. (Perhaps the weighty cooler was not entirely filled with Grape Nehi and cherry cola, and they’d gotten into it before they arrived?) Maybe they didn’t think that doing back-flips in front of me was spoiling my view of the water. Perhaps they considered themselves very nice to look at, in an “animal kingdom” sort of way. Anyway, my point is that I was not interested in any kind of social interaction with them, or anyone else on the beach, really. I just wanted to hang with my peeps and enjoy the sun and the soothing sounds of nature, but that clearly was not going to be possible any more. So I packed up my beach blanket and went home.
It’s not as pathetic as it sounds; I was almost ready to go home anyway. And I did have another chance to hit the beach one more time. That’s all I wanted: just one more gorgeous day to simply relax by the sea, soak up some rays, and enjoy the peace and relative quiet of the pounding surf. Without static or back-flips. Would Emily Post say that’s too much to ask?
So, I Bought a Bike
So, I bought a bike.
A bicycle, I should say. Not the sexy kind of bike, with a big purring engine and lots of chrome. No, I bought the un-sexy kind. Practically the un-sexiest mode of transportation going, really.
I used to have the sexy kind of bike, and it was hot. It had a cherry-red gas tank, leather saddlebags, and even – really! – little leather streamers hanging off the handlebars. Okay, that’s a bit girly, but they were attached when I bought the bike and they kind of grew on me.
I think it’s a little unfair that these two modes of transportation share a name, or at least a nickname. But since last week was officially “Bike Week,” let’s compare them, shall we?
In preparation for a ride on my motorcycle, I used to strap myself into my black leather chaps, step into my heavy leather motorcycle boots, and zip on my beat-up leather motorcycle jacket.
Before I go for a bicycle ride, I clip a dorky little metal ring around my pant leg so my jeans don’t get caught in the chain, I slip on some beat-up old sneakers, and I tuck my shirt into the back of my pants so my butt doesn’t hang all out. Are you picturing it?
Next, the helmet. The old one was a gorgeous red, full-face chunk of brain-hugging polycarbonate protection. The new one is kind of high and pointy, with a fake little visor/brim thingy attached and strappy bits that hang all down in weird places. “Will this helmet protect me at all?” I asked the youngster who sold it to me. “I guess, but does it really matter?” he mused, with the kind of confidence that makes so many teenage boys frequent fliers at the outpatient x-ray department. “It’s not like you’re going to fall in it.” Okay, then.
Maintenance. The old motorcycle didn’t need much. A little tune-up now and then, but for the most part, she worked like a charm. Start her up, she’d purr like a kitten. I’d go out and poke at stuff once in a while, but I was always kind of faking it, because I’m not particularly gifted in the mechanical skills department. I was more or less just showing off. When you have a capital-B Bike, you’re supposed to always be tinkering with it to get things just so.
The new bike has 21 gears, supposedly. I may never know, because whenever I try to shift out of the one that seems to work best – seventh, for those keeping track – everything just starts clicking and grinding and I lose all forward momentum, so I end up just shifting it back into seventh again. I’ve had it back in the shop three times for this already, since I bought it. I might add that this shifting snafu has been the norm on every single bicycle I have ever ridden. In the intervening years since I last bought a bicycle – let’s put that number somewhere around twenty – have bicycle manufacturers not been able to work out the bugs in derailleur technology?
Anyway, I guess this bicycle will be good for me, in the end. I’ll get a little exercise; hopefully it will be a good de-stressor for those days when I’m all brain-fried and cranky from sitting at my desk for nine straight hours. And it’ll keep me from burning gas in the car when I just need to duck out to the store for some, um, soda pop.
And perhaps I can find a way to “bring the sexy back” to bicycling. I think my first order of business will be to find myself a little skull-and-crossbones safety flag.
A bicycle, I should say. Not the sexy kind of bike, with a big purring engine and lots of chrome. No, I bought the un-sexy kind. Practically the un-sexiest mode of transportation going, really.
I used to have the sexy kind of bike, and it was hot. It had a cherry-red gas tank, leather saddlebags, and even – really! – little leather streamers hanging off the handlebars. Okay, that’s a bit girly, but they were attached when I bought the bike and they kind of grew on me.
I think it’s a little unfair that these two modes of transportation share a name, or at least a nickname. But since last week was officially “Bike Week,” let’s compare them, shall we?
In preparation for a ride on my motorcycle, I used to strap myself into my black leather chaps, step into my heavy leather motorcycle boots, and zip on my beat-up leather motorcycle jacket.
Before I go for a bicycle ride, I clip a dorky little metal ring around my pant leg so my jeans don’t get caught in the chain, I slip on some beat-up old sneakers, and I tuck my shirt into the back of my pants so my butt doesn’t hang all out. Are you picturing it?
Next, the helmet. The old one was a gorgeous red, full-face chunk of brain-hugging polycarbonate protection. The new one is kind of high and pointy, with a fake little visor/brim thingy attached and strappy bits that hang all down in weird places. “Will this helmet protect me at all?” I asked the youngster who sold it to me. “I guess, but does it really matter?” he mused, with the kind of confidence that makes so many teenage boys frequent fliers at the outpatient x-ray department. “It’s not like you’re going to fall in it.” Okay, then.
Maintenance. The old motorcycle didn’t need much. A little tune-up now and then, but for the most part, she worked like a charm. Start her up, she’d purr like a kitten. I’d go out and poke at stuff once in a while, but I was always kind of faking it, because I’m not particularly gifted in the mechanical skills department. I was more or less just showing off. When you have a capital-B Bike, you’re supposed to always be tinkering with it to get things just so.
The new bike has 21 gears, supposedly. I may never know, because whenever I try to shift out of the one that seems to work best – seventh, for those keeping track – everything just starts clicking and grinding and I lose all forward momentum, so I end up just shifting it back into seventh again. I’ve had it back in the shop three times for this already, since I bought it. I might add that this shifting snafu has been the norm on every single bicycle I have ever ridden. In the intervening years since I last bought a bicycle – let’s put that number somewhere around twenty – have bicycle manufacturers not been able to work out the bugs in derailleur technology?
Anyway, I guess this bicycle will be good for me, in the end. I’ll get a little exercise; hopefully it will be a good de-stressor for those days when I’m all brain-fried and cranky from sitting at my desk for nine straight hours. And it’ll keep me from burning gas in the car when I just need to duck out to the store for some, um, soda pop.
And perhaps I can find a way to “bring the sexy back” to bicycling. I think my first order of business will be to find myself a little skull-and-crossbones safety flag.
8 Things I Love About Halifax
When I read news stories about our local council’s obsession with regulating pet behaviour, or the ongoing bickering about which schools to close, or Halifax’s crumbling hospitals, I sometimes stop and ask myself, “Why is it that I choose to live here, again?” Because – let’s be honest here – it is a choice, and there are certainly a lot of other places in the world that I’d be happy to relocate to, if push came to shove.
But moving house is a bit of a drag, not to mention expensive, so perhaps a more productive approach would be to think about some of the things I like about living in Halifax. It’s an exercise which actually requires a lot of effort on my part to be positive and see the sunny side of things. Particularly today, on yet another cold, dreary and drizzly Halifax “spring” day. But I am totally up for the challenge!
So here I go: my Top Eight Reasons Not to Move to New York City. Already that’s too negative. Eight Ways Halifax is better than Toronto. No? Okay, the Top Eight Things I Love About Halifax. There, I said it.
Everyone in Halifax has a favourite beach, and since you can drive to many of them in about the same amount of time it takes a Torontonian to get halfway home every day, I consider beach access one of the huge bonuses of living here. I personally love Martinique Beach on the Eastern Shore, because it’s rarely crowded (and even when it is, it’s big enough to allow lots of space for everybody), it has surfers for entertainment, incredible waves for boogie-boarding, and a gorgeous long curve of sandy beach for walking. Sure, you can drive to within a kilometer of this beach on a hot, sunny day and hit a wall of fog that’s as cold and dense as the ice-packs in your beer cooler, but hey, that’s part of the fun.
Steve-O-Reno’s Cappuccino. Specifically, the cappuccino made by the two lovely women – I think their names are Anne and Leah – who work at the drive-through “shack” on Robie Street on most weekday mornings. A Monday morning stop at the cap shack has a way of making the coming week seem a just little more bearable. Also, I’ve discovered that there is no life-crisis that this coffee cannot make better.
Since we’re talking food, sort of, and I am clearly not averse to making outright product endorsements, I also love the build-your-own salad bar at the downtown Pete’s Frootique. How much easier could healthy eating be? “None. None more easy,” I say, to borrow a phrase from the movie Spinal Tap. To make me crave salad is nothing short of a miracle. And who knew that I liked kidney beans and sunflower seeds in my salad? Not even me, until I built my own at Pete’s.
Another of my favourite things about living here is a relatively little-known walking trail along the rocky coastline just past York Redoubt. There’s a teeny little parking lot just off Purcell’s Cove Road and a path that meanders out along the huge boulders at the water’s edge. The view out there is so beautiful! On Wikipedia, this spot is referred to as the Herring Cove “Look-Off”, but I call it “the Whale Walk,” because I saw whales out there once, munching their way along some fishing nets. I used to enjoy walking my dog out there, but she’s too rickety now to manage all the jumping and climbing. But despite having to go dog-less, I still enjoy it; it’s a quintessential Nova Scotian location and a great place to recharge my “nature batteries.”
Other random things I like about Halifax: swimming in Long Lake, watching the seals sunbathe on the rocks off the tip of Point Pleasant Park, gawking at the cruise ships that dock down at Pier 22, and eating French fries on the wall by the Spring Garden Road public library in the summer.
But do all these things make up for the petty politics and the embarrassingly stagnant level of social progress that Halifax seems to have become famous for? Well, yeah, I guess they do. All the cat bylaws in the world can’t ruin a gorgeous sunny day by the ocean.
But moving house is a bit of a drag, not to mention expensive, so perhaps a more productive approach would be to think about some of the things I like about living in Halifax. It’s an exercise which actually requires a lot of effort on my part to be positive and see the sunny side of things. Particularly today, on yet another cold, dreary and drizzly Halifax “spring” day. But I am totally up for the challenge!
So here I go: my Top Eight Reasons Not to Move to New York City. Already that’s too negative. Eight Ways Halifax is better than Toronto. No? Okay, the Top Eight Things I Love About Halifax. There, I said it.
Everyone in Halifax has a favourite beach, and since you can drive to many of them in about the same amount of time it takes a Torontonian to get halfway home every day, I consider beach access one of the huge bonuses of living here. I personally love Martinique Beach on the Eastern Shore, because it’s rarely crowded (and even when it is, it’s big enough to allow lots of space for everybody), it has surfers for entertainment, incredible waves for boogie-boarding, and a gorgeous long curve of sandy beach for walking. Sure, you can drive to within a kilometer of this beach on a hot, sunny day and hit a wall of fog that’s as cold and dense as the ice-packs in your beer cooler, but hey, that’s part of the fun.
Steve-O-Reno’s Cappuccino. Specifically, the cappuccino made by the two lovely women – I think their names are Anne and Leah – who work at the drive-through “shack” on Robie Street on most weekday mornings. A Monday morning stop at the cap shack has a way of making the coming week seem a just little more bearable. Also, I’ve discovered that there is no life-crisis that this coffee cannot make better.
Since we’re talking food, sort of, and I am clearly not averse to making outright product endorsements, I also love the build-your-own salad bar at the downtown Pete’s Frootique. How much easier could healthy eating be? “None. None more easy,” I say, to borrow a phrase from the movie Spinal Tap. To make me crave salad is nothing short of a miracle. And who knew that I liked kidney beans and sunflower seeds in my salad? Not even me, until I built my own at Pete’s.
Another of my favourite things about living here is a relatively little-known walking trail along the rocky coastline just past York Redoubt. There’s a teeny little parking lot just off Purcell’s Cove Road and a path that meanders out along the huge boulders at the water’s edge. The view out there is so beautiful! On Wikipedia, this spot is referred to as the Herring Cove “Look-Off”, but I call it “the Whale Walk,” because I saw whales out there once, munching their way along some fishing nets. I used to enjoy walking my dog out there, but she’s too rickety now to manage all the jumping and climbing. But despite having to go dog-less, I still enjoy it; it’s a quintessential Nova Scotian location and a great place to recharge my “nature batteries.”
Other random things I like about Halifax: swimming in Long Lake, watching the seals sunbathe on the rocks off the tip of Point Pleasant Park, gawking at the cruise ships that dock down at Pier 22, and eating French fries on the wall by the Spring Garden Road public library in the summer.
But do all these things make up for the petty politics and the embarrassingly stagnant level of social progress that Halifax seems to have become famous for? Well, yeah, I guess they do. All the cat bylaws in the world can’t ruin a gorgeous sunny day by the ocean.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Problem With Public Transit is the Public
One of the more ubiquitous "green" goals is to get more of the citizens of every sprawling municipality out of their cars and onto public transit. But a recently-released study by GPI Atlantic indicated that, despite the fact that 90% of urbanites and suburbanites live within half a kilometer of a transit stop, 78% of Haligonians are still commuting by car. According to the report, “This indicates that transit, although in close proximity to the majority of the population is not presently considered a desirable mode of transportation to work.”
Not desirable? What could be going on here? This claim clearly demands some primary research. Unfortunately, I don’t really commute anywhere, since I work from home most of the time, but just for fun I’ve taken up the challenge of riding the bus –– and what fun it is!
First of all, I have to point out that I find the number of sideways-facing seats (23 by my count) versus the number of forward-facing seats (I put this at 13) on the newer buses problematic, because I am a delicate flower, prone to motion sickness. I need to face forward, and that means I have to sit with the “bad kids” at the back of the bus. Well, actually, I kind of enjoy sitting with the bad kids, but not with the really bad kids who sit in the very back seats. Those kids are BAD. I myself am only a moderately bad kid, more or less a wannabe.
Also on the downside, I’ve discovered that several of my fellow travelers have some fairly annoying transit-related habits.
For example, there’s usually someone who chooses to sit on the outside edge of a forward-facing seat when every other seat on the bus is full. To this person I say: “Move in. Don’t make me give you the stink-eye.” Also, if I may say, your backpack is lovely and everything, but I really don’t think it needs a seat all to itself.
I’ve also noticed that there’s usually at least one fellow sitting on a shared seat who’s apparently so handsomely endowed that he has to keep his legs splayed wide for the entire trip, no matter how many people try to squish in beside him. Or maybe he finds it painful to bring his knees together, in which case I think there’s a prescription cream he can get for that.
Some of my comrades in commuting seem to have different boundaries than I do, particularly when it comes to personal space. No doubt many regular bus riders have met “the passenger who sits too close.” I mean, way too close. Yesterday, the guy who sat next to me was actually leaning on me, and no matter how small I made myself (and despite, once again, the stink-eye) he just kept hogging up whatever empty space I managed to temporarily create between us.
What have I learned from riding the bus? Well, I know now - from many overheard cellphone conversations - that drawing class sucks and photography is awesome. Also, somebody’s roommate is stealing money from him, and someone else is worried about failing her math exam and not getting into teachers’ college.
And finally, I have to mention the dear old woman I saw yesterday who kept demanding that people carry her purse for her as she got on and off the bus. As much as it made me cringe, it also warmed my heart to see that Halifax is still the kind of town where you can hand your purse over to strangers and always assume you’ll get it back.
Maybe the secret to increasing ridership is to market public transit as an entertainment medium. Who needs TV with all this real life happening right under your nose?
Not desirable? What could be going on here? This claim clearly demands some primary research. Unfortunately, I don’t really commute anywhere, since I work from home most of the time, but just for fun I’ve taken up the challenge of riding the bus –– and what fun it is!
First of all, I have to point out that I find the number of sideways-facing seats (23 by my count) versus the number of forward-facing seats (I put this at 13) on the newer buses problematic, because I am a delicate flower, prone to motion sickness. I need to face forward, and that means I have to sit with the “bad kids” at the back of the bus. Well, actually, I kind of enjoy sitting with the bad kids, but not with the really bad kids who sit in the very back seats. Those kids are BAD. I myself am only a moderately bad kid, more or less a wannabe.
Also on the downside, I’ve discovered that several of my fellow travelers have some fairly annoying transit-related habits.
For example, there’s usually someone who chooses to sit on the outside edge of a forward-facing seat when every other seat on the bus is full. To this person I say: “Move in. Don’t make me give you the stink-eye.” Also, if I may say, your backpack is lovely and everything, but I really don’t think it needs a seat all to itself.
I’ve also noticed that there’s usually at least one fellow sitting on a shared seat who’s apparently so handsomely endowed that he has to keep his legs splayed wide for the entire trip, no matter how many people try to squish in beside him. Or maybe he finds it painful to bring his knees together, in which case I think there’s a prescription cream he can get for that.
Some of my comrades in commuting seem to have different boundaries than I do, particularly when it comes to personal space. No doubt many regular bus riders have met “the passenger who sits too close.” I mean, way too close. Yesterday, the guy who sat next to me was actually leaning on me, and no matter how small I made myself (and despite, once again, the stink-eye) he just kept hogging up whatever empty space I managed to temporarily create between us.
What have I learned from riding the bus? Well, I know now - from many overheard cellphone conversations - that drawing class sucks and photography is awesome. Also, somebody’s roommate is stealing money from him, and someone else is worried about failing her math exam and not getting into teachers’ college.
And finally, I have to mention the dear old woman I saw yesterday who kept demanding that people carry her purse for her as she got on and off the bus. As much as it made me cringe, it also warmed my heart to see that Halifax is still the kind of town where you can hand your purse over to strangers and always assume you’ll get it back.
Maybe the secret to increasing ridership is to market public transit as an entertainment medium. Who needs TV with all this real life happening right under your nose?
Scrubcheeking. You Heard It Here First.
You, my dear readers, are nothing if not constantly poised on the cutting edge of whatever fad is currently pinging around cyberspace. So I was pretty sure you’d be interested in this as soon as I saw the headline: “Be a rock star. Try sleevefacing.”
The so-called “social networking trend” that is “sleevefacing” involves “one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion.” That’s according to sleeveface.com. I’d define it a bit more precisely as “one or more stoned dudes hold album covers over their faces and find it hilarious.” Quick, get the camera.
Anyway, what I find so confounding about “sleevefacing” is that it’s simply someone’s privately goofy behaviour that’s been assigned a name – and has thus evolved into a website and a Facebook page with a few thousand members. And perhaps as importantly, one of the wire services has written a story about it, which has been picked up by newspapers, and bingo – it’s now a “phenomenon.” I have a name and a Facebook page, therefore I am.
So I guess in order to create a phenomenon, all you need to do is coin a term that represents your phenomenon - preferably a compound word that may or may not involve a pun. Like this one I read recently:
“Relax at home,” said the newspaper headline. “Enjoy your staycation.” A “staycation” would be, of course, a vacation where you stay at home. Get it? And it rhymes. Which makes it even more etymologically fabulous.
I can play this game. I see myself starting trendy behaviours which will catch on like wildfire. My verbal gymnastics will catapult me into cult-like status among fad-watchers and fashionistas.
Here’s how it will go down. First, every morning, likeminded thinkers will rise, and, as I do, start their day with a little bit of “spewsponging.” (I have a cat that hasn’t been feeling well lately, so there are usually a few puked-up surprises on the living room rug when I get up in the morning.) No longer will barf cleanup be a disgusting chore. Once it has a catchy name, it will be in vogue!
Next, we’ll make coffee and spend a few minutes “slurpcupping” before we hop in the shower for some “scrubcheeking.”
If we decide not to step onto the bathroom scales today, we will take a “weighcation.” If we take the day off for a religious holiday, we will call it a “praycation.” A little extramarital dalliance on the side will be referred to as a “straycation.” Or perhaps a “betraycation.” And skipping dance class will become a “swaycation.”
Grocery shopping will never be as dreary again, once we discover how cool it is to go “stocknoshing.” And if we need a little more retail therapy, perhaps we can head over to the mall for some “spendlaxing.” How hip are we?
The once-dull task of vacuuming the dog hair from the living room rug will take on the panache of the newly-christened activity known as “suckfurring.” This phenomenon might even have spin-off trends such as “shampooching” and “brushbitching.”
Okay, we’ve created the language – now let’s get out there and start using it! We’ll put this blog on the map as a hotbed of verbal trendification. Don’t forget to post pictures of yourself doing all these activities on Facebook. I’m off to set up the “scrubcheeking” page right now.
The so-called “social networking trend” that is “sleevefacing” involves “one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion.” That’s according to sleeveface.com. I’d define it a bit more precisely as “one or more stoned dudes hold album covers over their faces and find it hilarious.” Quick, get the camera.
Anyway, what I find so confounding about “sleevefacing” is that it’s simply someone’s privately goofy behaviour that’s been assigned a name – and has thus evolved into a website and a Facebook page with a few thousand members. And perhaps as importantly, one of the wire services has written a story about it, which has been picked up by newspapers, and bingo – it’s now a “phenomenon.” I have a name and a Facebook page, therefore I am.
So I guess in order to create a phenomenon, all you need to do is coin a term that represents your phenomenon - preferably a compound word that may or may not involve a pun. Like this one I read recently:
“Relax at home,” said the newspaper headline. “Enjoy your staycation.” A “staycation” would be, of course, a vacation where you stay at home. Get it? And it rhymes. Which makes it even more etymologically fabulous.
I can play this game. I see myself starting trendy behaviours which will catch on like wildfire. My verbal gymnastics will catapult me into cult-like status among fad-watchers and fashionistas.
Here’s how it will go down. First, every morning, likeminded thinkers will rise, and, as I do, start their day with a little bit of “spewsponging.” (I have a cat that hasn’t been feeling well lately, so there are usually a few puked-up surprises on the living room rug when I get up in the morning.) No longer will barf cleanup be a disgusting chore. Once it has a catchy name, it will be in vogue!
Next, we’ll make coffee and spend a few minutes “slurpcupping” before we hop in the shower for some “scrubcheeking.”
If we decide not to step onto the bathroom scales today, we will take a “weighcation.” If we take the day off for a religious holiday, we will call it a “praycation.” A little extramarital dalliance on the side will be referred to as a “straycation.” Or perhaps a “betraycation.” And skipping dance class will become a “swaycation.”
Grocery shopping will never be as dreary again, once we discover how cool it is to go “stocknoshing.” And if we need a little more retail therapy, perhaps we can head over to the mall for some “spendlaxing.” How hip are we?
The once-dull task of vacuuming the dog hair from the living room rug will take on the panache of the newly-christened activity known as “suckfurring.” This phenomenon might even have spin-off trends such as “shampooching” and “brushbitching.”
Okay, we’ve created the language – now let’s get out there and start using it! We’ll put this blog on the map as a hotbed of verbal trendification. Don’t forget to post pictures of yourself doing all these activities on Facebook. I’m off to set up the “scrubcheeking” page right now.
Friday, April 11, 2008
I Have Me One Darned Cute Dog
...and she was one of 50 finalists (out of 15,000 entries) in the "Canada's Cutest Pets" photo contest:
http://www.canadianliving.com/life/pets/photo_gallery__canadas_cutest_pets_2008-14.php
http://www.canadianliving.com/life/pets/photo_gallery__canadas_cutest_pets_2008-14.php
Friday, April 4, 2008
Tales from the Bargain Hunter
“For sale – One stuffed Bear. $7. Must See.”
That was one of my all-time favourite buy-and-sell ads. First of all, who would go to the trouble of listing a single stuffed toy? And if they’re going to go to all that trouble, could they maybe be a little more descriptive? And who in heaven’s name would think, “Yeah, I should call them up and go have a look at that...”?
Sometimes I read the buy-and-sells purely for their comedy value. The hilarity tends to fall into in some very specific categories. Check out this selection of actual listings, mostly from this week’s Bargain Hunter.
Our first theme: Something Spells Bad.
- Approved building lot, driveway and colbert [sic] installed. (I think they mean a “culvert,” not a late-night comedian.)
- Set of Wall Scones [sic], asking $100. (Not sure how they taste after they’ve been hanging on the wall like that, but OK...)
- Accomadations [sic] Wanted. For Professor who spends evenings working in her office. Family or person with spare foom [sic] would be ideal. (Hopefully she’s not an English professor.)
- For Sale: Brown Leather Coach [sic]. (Perhaps he’s spent too much time in the sun with the team.)
- Good Working Fridge. Woks [sic] Great. (Well, which is it? Does it wok good, or does it wok great?)
- Wanted to Buy Two Used Kayakis [sic]. (I think a “Kayaki” is a sort of brownish-green-colored kayak.)
- George Foreman Roasting Grille [sic]. (After you make dinner, you attach it to the front of your Cadillac.)
- Room in Quite [sic] Non Smoking Scent Free House. (Like we said, it’s a fairly non-smoking scent-free house.)
- Duplex for Rent – 8 mins walk to Supper [sic] Store. (Well, that is what you’re probably going to buy there.)
- Wanted: Border [sic] to Share Lakehouse. (New Brunswick or Maine borders welcome to apply.)
- Johnny Cash CD – “House of Cash” with 24 songs by Johnny accompanied by he’s [sic] guitar. Its [sic] a collectors [sic] item. (Where to start? Well, for one thing, I wonder how “he’s” guitar enjoyed accompanying him?)
- Valley Bull Dog 2 yrs old. Spaded [sic]. (No doubt it hurt when they whacked that poor dog with the shovel.)
This was under “Rentals”. It was also listed under “Wanted”:
- 45 Yr. Plus Female Professional, excellent references. (She actually did go on to say she was looking for a place to live. But her opening line kind of threw me.)
And I can only classify these ones as “Huh…?”:
- Roommate Wanted: Prefer a Female or Male. (But OK with anything else, I guess.)
- 2000 Johnson 3 cyl, 35 HP long shaft for parts. (This fellow is selling his long-shaft Johnson. He could get arrested for that, couldn’t he?)
- Kitchen Table, 4 chairs, 1 broken. (Wouldn’t that be “Kitchen Table, 3 chairs”?)
- 2.5 HP Treadmill, used very little, selling for health reasons. (Yeah, once they get rid of that guilt-inducing, unused treadmill, they’ll feel a lot healthier.)
- Wanted: Anything that Anyone wants to Give Away for Free. (Dude, have I got a basement full of crap for you.)
- New Futon Like New 8 Months Old. (Which is it - “New,” “Like New,” or “8 Months Old”?)
- Oxygen Making Machine. (Don’t we usually call these “trees”?)
- I would like some big cheap rabbit cages, free if possible. (And fast! For some reason I keep needing more…)
- Want to purchase old or damaged aluminum boat. (Floating apparently not a requirement.)
- Pellet Gun – will trade for any kind of real gun or something else of value. (My guess is that giving this guy “any kind of real gun” would be a mistake.)
- Wanted: Low priced handguns. (See above.)
Okay, and just one more category: the Department of Colorful Redundancy Department.
- Large Snow Scoop. Blue in color. (As opposed to Blue in shape.)
- New London Fog Jacket, Brown in color. (As opposed to Brown in smell.)
- Recliner Chair new condition. Pink in color. (I think you get my drift.)
- Oval Hardwood Table and Chairs, Honey Maple in color. (Well, that one actually could have been a flavour.)
Okay, one final listing, along with a word of advice.
- For sale: One diaper pail, $5.
Personally, I think this is one item that might be worth buying new.
That was one of my all-time favourite buy-and-sell ads. First of all, who would go to the trouble of listing a single stuffed toy? And if they’re going to go to all that trouble, could they maybe be a little more descriptive? And who in heaven’s name would think, “Yeah, I should call them up and go have a look at that...”?
Sometimes I read the buy-and-sells purely for their comedy value. The hilarity tends to fall into in some very specific categories. Check out this selection of actual listings, mostly from this week’s Bargain Hunter.
Our first theme: Something Spells Bad.
- Approved building lot, driveway and colbert [sic] installed. (I think they mean a “culvert,” not a late-night comedian.)
- Set of Wall Scones [sic], asking $100. (Not sure how they taste after they’ve been hanging on the wall like that, but OK...)
- Accomadations [sic] Wanted. For Professor who spends evenings working in her office. Family or person with spare foom [sic] would be ideal. (Hopefully she’s not an English professor.)- For Sale: Brown Leather Coach [sic]. (Perhaps he’s spent too much time in the sun with the team.)
- Good Working Fridge. Woks [sic] Great. (Well, which is it? Does it wok good, or does it wok great?)
- Wanted to Buy Two Used Kayakis [sic]. (I think a “Kayaki” is a sort of brownish-green-colored kayak.)
- George Foreman Roasting Grille [sic]. (After you make dinner, you attach it to the front of your Cadillac.)
- Room in Quite [sic] Non Smoking Scent Free House. (Like we said, it’s a fairly non-smoking scent-free house.)
- Duplex for Rent – 8 mins walk to Supper [sic] Store. (Well, that is what you’re probably going to buy there.)
- Wanted: Border [sic] to Share Lakehouse. (New Brunswick or Maine borders welcome to apply.)
- Johnny Cash CD – “House of Cash” with 24 songs by Johnny accompanied by he’s [sic] guitar. Its [sic] a collectors [sic] item. (Where to start? Well, for one thing, I wonder how “he’s” guitar enjoyed accompanying him?)
- Valley Bull Dog 2 yrs old. Spaded [sic]. (No doubt it hurt when they whacked that poor dog with the shovel.)
This was under “Rentals”. It was also listed under “Wanted”:- 45 Yr. Plus Female Professional, excellent references. (She actually did go on to say she was looking for a place to live. But her opening line kind of threw me.)
And I can only classify these ones as “Huh…?”:
- Roommate Wanted: Prefer a Female or Male. (But OK with anything else, I guess.)
- 2000 Johnson 3 cyl, 35 HP long shaft for parts. (This fellow is selling his long-shaft Johnson. He could get arrested for that, couldn’t he?)
- Kitchen Table, 4 chairs, 1 broken. (Wouldn’t that be “Kitchen Table, 3 chairs”?)
- 2.5 HP Treadmill, used very little, selling for health reasons. (Yeah, once they get rid of that guilt-inducing, unused treadmill, they’ll feel a lot healthier.)
- Wanted: Anything that Anyone wants to Give Away for Free. (Dude, have I got a basement full of crap for you.)
- New Futon Like New 8 Months Old. (Which is it - “New,” “Like New,” or “8 Months Old”?)
- Oxygen Making Machine. (Don’t we usually call these “trees”?)
- I would like some big cheap rabbit cages, free if possible. (And fast! For some reason I keep needing more…)
- Want to purchase old or damaged aluminum boat. (Floating apparently not a requirement.)
- Pellet Gun – will trade for any kind of real gun or something else of value. (My guess is that giving this guy “any kind of real gun” would be a mistake.)
- Wanted: Low priced handguns. (See above.)
Okay, and just one more category: the Department of Colorful Redundancy Department.
- Large Snow Scoop. Blue in color. (As opposed to Blue in shape.)
- New London Fog Jacket, Brown in color. (As opposed to Brown in smell.)
- Recliner Chair new condition. Pink in color. (I think you get my drift.)
- Oval Hardwood Table and Chairs, Honey Maple in color. (Well, that one actually could have been a flavour.)
Okay, one final listing, along with a word of advice.
- For sale: One diaper pail, $5.
Personally, I think this is one item that might be worth buying new.
Halifax's Low Rise vs. High Rise Debate
At the moment, I’m parked at the top of Citadel Hill, the only car in sight - which, in itself, is making me feel a little weird and creepy - even though I’m totally just looking at the view. But the pedestrians that occasionally pass by are giving me odd looks and I have this strange urge to roll down the window and holler “I’m sight-seeing!” Not that I need to explain myself. Why should I explain myself? It’s a free country.
Anyway, so I’m sitting here, taking in the view in all its glory. And I’m thinking, “Why would anyone fight to maintain this? This is the ugliest skyline I have ever seen.”
I mean, look at it. If low buildings are what some people are interested in preserving, can we talk about the Metro Centre? A full city block of gravel-roofed grey, and really, it’s the focal point of the view from the Citadel’s little look-off.
When experts talk about “view planes,” what is it that they want people (presumably tourists, mostly) to be able to see from Citadel Hill? Is it the harbour? Why? There are a million better places to get a view of the harbour besides Citadel Hill. Is it the downtown waterfront? That’s already blocked off anyway. Is it our impressive city skyline? Well, let’s talk about that skyline.
I know Halifax has an identity crisis. What are we – big or small? What do we want to be – hip or comfy? Fast or slow? Tomorrow or yesterday?
But a city isn’t a city without architecture. Big, bold buildings are beautiful. A well-designed downtown high-rise can be way more aesthetically pleasing to look at than, say, the oil refinery in Dartmouth. And the more well-designed tall buildings there are downtown, the better, in my opinion.
What’s the most impressive thing you can see from Citadel Hill? It’s probably the Macdonald bridge – because of its scale; because it’s a remarkable work of design and engineering. And that white office building with the lush-looking terraces is nice, too. And that’s about it.
You know that feeling you get when you’re driving into a big city, and it’s night, and suddenly you can see the downtown and it’s all tall buildings and it’s all lit up? (I know, I know, all those lit-up office towers are killing the planet.) Well, I wish I could get a little more of that feeling when I’m coming over the bridge from Dartmouth. Is that wrong?
Leaving out the important issues of economics and population density and even heritage, if all we are concerned about is how the city “feels”… it feels to me like a city that’s stuck in the 70’s. Sort of like the Farrah Fawcett of cities. Like Peter Frampton had designed it all and then just left. Like we’re waiting for the Captain and Tennille to come and modernize the place a bit.
I’m all for moving Halifax forward. So come on, Halifax. Maybe I’ll give Pat Benatar a call and see if she can’t at least help us bring this city into the 1980’s.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
I'm Watching You
Hey, was that you walking up Henry Street just now with your black puffy-coat on and carrying that heavy-looking backpack? I guess you must be coming from class or something.
Or was that you driving in the white mini-van down University Avenue a few seconds ago? Maybe you just dropped somebody off at the library or the Student Union Building.
Perhaps that’s you taking a stroll down on the waterfront, just past the Cable Wharf. It’s a cold day for a walk, and there’s a bit of snow on the ground, but the sun is out. Better you than me, though. I’m just sitting here all nice and warm in front of my computer, watching you.
It does feel a little creepy, even if – technically – I’m not doing anything wrong. These images of public spaces around Halifax are available on the internet for anyone, anywhere in the world to enjoy.
Police surveillance and closed-circuit cameras aside, just how much of the area around Halifax is already available to me via cameras that stream images straight to the web?
It turns out – quite a bit. In fact, you can find a definitive guide to all these sites at wright.chebucto.net/view.html. Some of these cameras simply offer long-shot scenic views. For example, you can get a good look at the traffic in Halifax Harbour from the top of Fenwick Place at webcam.chebucto.net.
If you’ve been wondering what the waterfront looks like from the Westin or Alderney Gate today, cameras are refreshed every ten seconds at halifaxwebcam.ca.
There are also some really useful cameras posted by the Nova Scotia Department of Transportation (gov.ns.ca/tran/cameras/camera.asp) that allow you to see highway weather conditions all across the province before you hit the road.
But while I’ve been checking out these webcams, I’ve haven’t only been watching ships and cars; I’ve also been people-watching. The little family of three at the waterfront has no idea I’m watching them right now.
And there are other webcams around town that are aimed directly at places people pass through. There’s a camera mounted in little cul-de-sac just off Northwest Arm Drive (users.eastlink.ca/~akovalko/) that I can watch 24-7 if I feel like it. And you’d better be on your best behaviour when you pass by the corner of University Avenue and Henry Street! There are a couple of live streaming cameras (cs.dal.ca/cam/index.shtml) that allow anyone to watch your every move from a few floors up inside the Dal Computer Science building.
There is an almost-live webcam (at myconnect.ca) with an excellent time-lapsed view of Argyle Street and the entrance to Neptune Theatre. Look at you two coming from the direction of the coffee shop with your giant cups of coffee. So cute together! Hey, are you going into the hotel?
If you’re far away and want to see a little piece of home, I’m sure it’s comforting to look in on your favourite places. But I guess it makes me vaguely uncomfortable to be watching people when they don’t know I’m watching them. If it’s you that I’m watching right now, do you care?
Or was that you driving in the white mini-van down University Avenue a few seconds ago? Maybe you just dropped somebody off at the library or the Student Union Building.
Perhaps that’s you taking a stroll down on the waterfront, just past the Cable Wharf. It’s a cold day for a walk, and there’s a bit of snow on the ground, but the sun is out. Better you than me, though. I’m just sitting here all nice and warm in front of my computer, watching you.
It does feel a little creepy, even if – technically – I’m not doing anything wrong. These images of public spaces around Halifax are available on the internet for anyone, anywhere in the world to enjoy.
Police surveillance and closed-circuit cameras aside, just how much of the area around Halifax is already available to me via cameras that stream images straight to the web?
It turns out – quite a bit. In fact, you can find a definitive guide to all these sites at wright.chebucto.net/view.html. Some of these cameras simply offer long-shot scenic views. For example, you can get a good look at the traffic in Halifax Harbour from the top of Fenwick Place at webcam.chebucto.net.
If you’ve been wondering what the waterfront looks like from the Westin or Alderney Gate today, cameras are refreshed every ten seconds at halifaxwebcam.ca.
There are also some really useful cameras posted by the Nova Scotia Department of Transportation (gov.ns.ca/tran/cameras/camera.asp) that allow you to see highway weather conditions all across the province before you hit the road.
But while I’ve been checking out these webcams, I’ve haven’t only been watching ships and cars; I’ve also been people-watching. The little family of three at the waterfront has no idea I’m watching them right now.
And there are other webcams around town that are aimed directly at places people pass through. There’s a camera mounted in little cul-de-sac just off Northwest Arm Drive (users.eastlink.ca/~akovalko/) that I can watch 24-7 if I feel like it. And you’d better be on your best behaviour when you pass by the corner of University Avenue and Henry Street! There are a couple of live streaming cameras (cs.dal.ca/cam/index.shtml) that allow anyone to watch your every move from a few floors up inside the Dal Computer Science building.
There is an almost-live webcam (at myconnect.ca) with an excellent time-lapsed view of Argyle Street and the entrance to Neptune Theatre. Look at you two coming from the direction of the coffee shop with your giant cups of coffee. So cute together! Hey, are you going into the hotel?
If you’re far away and want to see a little piece of home, I’m sure it’s comforting to look in on your favourite places. But I guess it makes me vaguely uncomfortable to be watching people when they don’t know I’m watching them. If it’s you that I’m watching right now, do you care?
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Beige Vinyl Siding: Crime Against Humanity?
Neighbors, consider this a call to arms. A call to reject uniformity, conformity, and mediocrity. Brothers and sisters, resist the urge of the lowest common denominator.
Are we talking about Stephen Harper’s government? No. Movies that star Adam Sandler? No.
This scourge is much more insidious. And it’s spreading around us as we speak.
It’s a trend I refer to as the “homogenization of the ‘hood.”
My part of Halifax is made up largely of quaint little pre-fab houses - mostly bungalows - that were built around the time of WWII. Folks who have lived around here longer than I have say the houses were built for the workers contributing to the war effort.
There’s nothing particularly significant about these homes, but each is unique in its own small way. They have a kind of “retro” aesthetic and they’re still relatively cheap compared to a lot of homes, so when they go up for sale, they tend to get snapped up pretty quickly.
But with the sale of every cottage-y little home, I grow more and more disheartened. Because inevitably, here is what’s going to happen:
First, the new owners will tear off the old asbestos shingles (…I know!). Then they’ll gut the place and add a storey or two. (…Okay, that makes sense.) But then – and this happens on a far too regular basis – they’ll wrap the whole darn thing in the ugliest substance known to humankind: beige vinyl siding.
These revamped studies in brown often have nothing that makes them unique. No welcoming porch. No creative focal points. Teeny little windows. In short, they are watertight boxes with no character whatsoever. Sure, these weren’t gorgeous Victorian homes to start with, but does everybody have to go with the most insipid, utilitarian exterior possible?
The more of these unimaginative homes that pop up around me, the more depressed I get. Who wants to live in a neighborhood full of beige – sorry, “Sandalwood” - blandness?
I guess I shouldn’t be so judgmental. Maybe some people choose beige vinyl because it’s, like, their favourite.
But it does seem kind of ironic that just as this city is becoming more conscious of design issues and aesthetics – particularly in the downtown core - those of us in the residential neighborhoods are left to watch helplessly as our whimsical little homes are slowly becoming… well, boring.
Are we talking about Stephen Harper’s government? No. Movies that star Adam Sandler? No.
This scourge is much more insidious. And it’s spreading around us as we speak.
It’s a trend I refer to as the “homogenization of the ‘hood.”
My part of Halifax is made up largely of quaint little pre-fab houses - mostly bungalows - that were built around the time of WWII. Folks who have lived around here longer than I have say the houses were built for the workers contributing to the war effort.
There’s nothing particularly significant about these homes, but each is unique in its own small way. They have a kind of “retro” aesthetic and they’re still relatively cheap compared to a lot of homes, so when they go up for sale, they tend to get snapped up pretty quickly.
But with the sale of every cottage-y little home, I grow more and more disheartened. Because inevitably, here is what’s going to happen:First, the new owners will tear off the old asbestos shingles (…I know!). Then they’ll gut the place and add a storey or two. (…Okay, that makes sense.) But then – and this happens on a far too regular basis – they’ll wrap the whole darn thing in the ugliest substance known to humankind: beige vinyl siding.
These revamped studies in brown often have nothing that makes them unique. No welcoming porch. No creative focal points. Teeny little windows. In short, they are watertight boxes with no character whatsoever. Sure, these weren’t gorgeous Victorian homes to start with, but does everybody have to go with the most insipid, utilitarian exterior possible?The more of these unimaginative homes that pop up around me, the more depressed I get. Who wants to live in a neighborhood full of beige – sorry, “Sandalwood” - blandness?
I guess I shouldn’t be so judgmental. Maybe some people choose beige vinyl because it’s, like, their favourite.
But it does seem kind of ironic that just as this city is becoming more conscious of design issues and aesthetics – particularly in the downtown core - those of us in the residential neighborhoods are left to watch helplessly as our whimsical little homes are slowly becoming… well, boring.
Monday, March 31, 2008
A World without Bags
It’s not that I’m being willfully ignorant, it’s just that I have a memory about as reliable as our mayor is proactive. So, even though I recently bought a couple of those unsightly re-usable grocery bags, I almost never remember to bring them into the grocery store with me when I get out of the car. In fact, most of the time I forget to even put them IN the car.
And it’s not that I don’t care about the environment and the future of the planet and all that, it’s just that … well, I find plastic grocery bags kind of …convenient. For carrying groceries. And for other stuff, too.
So the fact that one of the local grocery stores has gone “bagless” causes me some concern. I don’t mean a lot of concern. It’s not keeping me up at night, or anything.
I just don’t think I could live a completely plastic-bagless existence.
First of all, I hate being seen in public carrying those ugly re-usable bags around. Especially those big green flowered ones. Sure, you can carry a lot of stuff in them and (supposedly) throw them in the washer when they get dirty. Like I need more laundry to do. But since you actually own them and you have to take them with you into the store, they’re sort of a fashion accessory, and in that sense, they’re downright embarrassing.
Then there’s my pooch and her somewhat inconvenient need to poop twice a day. I know, there’s already been a ton of discussion on this subject. But listen, I’ve tried those biodegradable bags. And without getting into all the messy details, they’re kind of narrow, and they don’t work well for …larger dogs. As for a certain environmental group's advice to use paper bags (!!) …well, you guys first.
Also, I have an extremely arrogant and demanding kitty-cat whose litter needs to be scrupulously scooped daily into something that can be tied and tossed quickly, before one faints from inhaling the toxic fumes. I should also point out that if this litter is not cleaned fastidiously and often, this cat will pee directly out the door of the litter box, as a message to me, her horrible owner. So a reliable supply of grocery bags for this purpose is more or less essential.
Sometimes I re-use my grocery bags to haul my recently-read magazines over to the hospital so they can be delivered to the various waiting rooms – which, I might add, are usually in desperate need of fresh reading material. Do I get any points for re-using my plastic bags for good rather than evil?
And at any given time, there are various shopping bags in service around my house as storage containers for wrapping paper, craft supplies, summer clothes, nuts and bolts, clothespins, old comic books, photographs… you name it. Those bags are pretty darned versatile. I doubt that it would be better for the planet if I went out and bought a bunch of hard plastic containers.
Maybe inventive re-use runs in my family. My Uncle Jack refers to a plastic grocery bag as his “briefcase” and cheerfully totes his important documents around in one (generally known as a “Sobeys bag,” even if it’s from another store) whenever he has a meeting with some official or other.
I have also been known to make use of this system from time to time – until recently, when I managed to find a handy alternative – a $1 “courier bag” from the dollar store. So you see, you can’t say I’m not trying to be proactive.
Okay, I’m just being flippant here ...but I get a distinct sense that I’m probably not supposed to joke about this stuff. So don’t get your #2 HDPE and your #4 LDPE plastic bags all in a knot, okay? I am cutting back on my use of these bags. I’m just saying that if the whole city were to go plastic-less, I’d be in a bit of a…uh, sticky situation.
Anyway, must “environmentalism” and “sanctimony” always go hand in hand? All that righteous indignation out there is probably contributing to global warming, you know.
(This item was previously published in my weekly column, "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
And it’s not that I don’t care about the environment and the future of the planet and all that, it’s just that … well, I find plastic grocery bags kind of …convenient. For carrying groceries. And for other stuff, too.
So the fact that one of the local grocery stores has gone “bagless” causes me some concern. I don’t mean a lot of concern. It’s not keeping me up at night, or anything.
I just don’t think I could live a completely plastic-bagless existence.
First of all, I hate being seen in public carrying those ugly re-usable bags around. Especially those big green flowered ones. Sure, you can carry a lot of stuff in them and (supposedly) throw them in the washer when they get dirty. Like I need more laundry to do. But since you actually own them and you have to take them with you into the store, they’re sort of a fashion accessory, and in that sense, they’re downright embarrassing.
Then there’s my pooch and her somewhat inconvenient need to poop twice a day. I know, there’s already been a ton of discussion on this subject. But listen, I’ve tried those biodegradable bags. And without getting into all the messy details, they’re kind of narrow, and they don’t work well for …larger dogs. As for a certain environmental group's advice to use paper bags (!!) …well, you guys first.
Also, I have an extremely arrogant and demanding kitty-cat whose litter needs to be scrupulously scooped daily into something that can be tied and tossed quickly, before one faints from inhaling the toxic fumes. I should also point out that if this litter is not cleaned fastidiously and often, this cat will pee directly out the door of the litter box, as a message to me, her horrible owner. So a reliable supply of grocery bags for this purpose is more or less essential.
Sometimes I re-use my grocery bags to haul my recently-read magazines over to the hospital so they can be delivered to the various waiting rooms – which, I might add, are usually in desperate need of fresh reading material. Do I get any points for re-using my plastic bags for good rather than evil?
And at any given time, there are various shopping bags in service around my house as storage containers for wrapping paper, craft supplies, summer clothes, nuts and bolts, clothespins, old comic books, photographs… you name it. Those bags are pretty darned versatile. I doubt that it would be better for the planet if I went out and bought a bunch of hard plastic containers.
Maybe inventive re-use runs in my family. My Uncle Jack refers to a plastic grocery bag as his “briefcase” and cheerfully totes his important documents around in one (generally known as a “Sobeys bag,” even if it’s from another store) whenever he has a meeting with some official or other.
I have also been known to make use of this system from time to time – until recently, when I managed to find a handy alternative – a $1 “courier bag” from the dollar store. So you see, you can’t say I’m not trying to be proactive.
Okay, I’m just being flippant here ...but I get a distinct sense that I’m probably not supposed to joke about this stuff. So don’t get your #2 HDPE and your #4 LDPE plastic bags all in a knot, okay? I am cutting back on my use of these bags. I’m just saying that if the whole city were to go plastic-less, I’d be in a bit of a…uh, sticky situation.
Anyway, must “environmentalism” and “sanctimony” always go hand in hand? All that righteous indignation out there is probably contributing to global warming, you know.
(This item was previously published in my weekly column, "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
Winter Drivers
It’s been a pretty tough winter so far. But for once in my life, I’m feeling pretty zen about the winter weather. This year, for some reason, I am not taking every snowstorm personally.
Maybe it’s because I don’t have to commute to work through it anymore. My everyday commute now involves shuffling my slippered feet around the corner from the kitchen and into my little home office. (I must be important – they gave me a corner office with a window!) Sure, I have to share with a wheezy old Labrador Retriever with gas issues and a snoring problem, but I guess that’s okay. Gives me someone to chat with over the water bowl, uh, cooler. Also encourages exercise, as it’s necessary to leave the room on a regular basis to get a little fresh oxygen.
Anyway, much of the time I’m able to avoid driving when the roads are really bad. Unfortunately, the other day I had to drive downtown for an appointment.
It was a slow and slippery ride, but I got there and back safely – no thanks to one heedless speedster in his SUV who didn’t mind tailgating me all the way up the street. It was pretty annoying. Surely, I kept thinking, it’s just common sense to adapt your driving style to the conditions.
Unfortunately, careful drivers can take all the care they like, but it’s the lowest common denominator – and a bit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time – that can mean the difference between a safe drive home and getting rear-ended at the next red light.
My SUV-guy brought to mind a few of the bad winter driving habits I’ve witnessed so far this year, and the attitude that seems to go with those habits.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #1: All I need is a little peephole and I’m good to go.
You’ve seen this person too, no doubt. His or her car is covered in snow and all they’ve cleared before driving off is a tiny little hollow on the windshield. The side and rear windows – not to mention the majority of the front windshield – are still buried. Being able to see is, apparently, for chumps. Anyway, it’ll all blow off once they get going, right? Good luck if they pull out blindly in front of you, or if you’re behind them and a big honkin’ chunk of ice blows off right in your path.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #2: I have four-wheel-drive so I can go as fast as I want.
Okay, it can be argued that these vehicles could have a bit of a traction advantage (in some conditions) over those without four-wheel drive (presuming they have four winter tires on the vehicle), but that doesn’t give these drivers license to create hazards for everyone else. Overconfident drivers who pull out in front of others as if conditions are normal create a braking hazard for the rest of us. Not to mention that they don’t have nearly as much control over their own braking as they seem to think they have. It can take up to twelve times further to stop on snow and ice than on dry pavement – and there are no special allowances for SUVs.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #3: I have four-wheel-drive so you should go as fast as I want.
Here’s where my tailgater comes in. Look, if I’m going too slowly for you it’s because I’m driving at a speed I consider safe for the conditions. So BACK OFF. You aren’t going to get there any sooner by driving all up on my rear bumper. Also, I do not share your faith that you won’t come sailing through my back window when you hit that patch of black ice.
Putting all sarcasm aside for a moment (trust me, that’s hard for me to do), there are lots of sites with really good winter driving tips and actual useful advice if you’re interested in checking them out. The Canada Safety Council has information at safety-council.org/info/traffic/winter.htm .
Read up. You may still need these tips in July.
(This item was previously published in my weekly column "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
Maybe it’s because I don’t have to commute to work through it anymore. My everyday commute now involves shuffling my slippered feet around the corner from the kitchen and into my little home office. (I must be important – they gave me a corner office with a window!) Sure, I have to share with a wheezy old Labrador Retriever with gas issues and a snoring problem, but I guess that’s okay. Gives me someone to chat with over the water bowl, uh, cooler. Also encourages exercise, as it’s necessary to leave the room on a regular basis to get a little fresh oxygen.
Anyway, much of the time I’m able to avoid driving when the roads are really bad. Unfortunately, the other day I had to drive downtown for an appointment.
It was a slow and slippery ride, but I got there and back safely – no thanks to one heedless speedster in his SUV who didn’t mind tailgating me all the way up the street. It was pretty annoying. Surely, I kept thinking, it’s just common sense to adapt your driving style to the conditions.
Unfortunately, careful drivers can take all the care they like, but it’s the lowest common denominator – and a bit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time – that can mean the difference between a safe drive home and getting rear-ended at the next red light.
My SUV-guy brought to mind a few of the bad winter driving habits I’ve witnessed so far this year, and the attitude that seems to go with those habits.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #1: All I need is a little peephole and I’m good to go.
You’ve seen this person too, no doubt. His or her car is covered in snow and all they’ve cleared before driving off is a tiny little hollow on the windshield. The side and rear windows – not to mention the majority of the front windshield – are still buried. Being able to see is, apparently, for chumps. Anyway, it’ll all blow off once they get going, right? Good luck if they pull out blindly in front of you, or if you’re behind them and a big honkin’ chunk of ice blows off right in your path.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #2: I have four-wheel-drive so I can go as fast as I want.
Okay, it can be argued that these vehicles could have a bit of a traction advantage (in some conditions) over those without four-wheel drive (presuming they have four winter tires on the vehicle), but that doesn’t give these drivers license to create hazards for everyone else. Overconfident drivers who pull out in front of others as if conditions are normal create a braking hazard for the rest of us. Not to mention that they don’t have nearly as much control over their own braking as they seem to think they have. It can take up to twelve times further to stop on snow and ice than on dry pavement – and there are no special allowances for SUVs.
Careless Winter Driving Attitude #3: I have four-wheel-drive so you should go as fast as I want.
Here’s where my tailgater comes in. Look, if I’m going too slowly for you it’s because I’m driving at a speed I consider safe for the conditions. So BACK OFF. You aren’t going to get there any sooner by driving all up on my rear bumper. Also, I do not share your faith that you won’t come sailing through my back window when you hit that patch of black ice.
Putting all sarcasm aside for a moment (trust me, that’s hard for me to do), there are lots of sites with really good winter driving tips and actual useful advice if you’re interested in checking them out. The Canada Safety Council has information at safety-council.org/info/traffic/winter.htm .
Read up. You may still need these tips in July.
(This item was previously published in my weekly column "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
Please don't share
Let’s talk about germs.
I don’t like ‘em. I’m not particularly interested in them. And I’m really not interested in anyone else’s. Do you see where I’m going with this?
The other day I was shopping when a gentleman turned toward me and sneezed. Into the air. The air that I was breathing. Did he make any attempt to cover his mouth? No. Have you seen those science shows where they show how far and fast those droplets spew? Well, I have.
Sometimes when a stranger-sneeze happens right in my space I try not to breathe for a few seconds but then when I do, I just suck air in harder, so that probably just defeats the purpose.
Anyway, just for future reference, could I please make a suggestion, sir? Just, you know, cover your mouth? And not with your hand, because then you’re just going to touch something with your germy mitt. How about sneezing into your elbow next time? That would really be appreciated.
I know everybody probably thinks this is just common sense, but I’m constantly amazed by how un-common it is to see people actually covering their mouths when they cough or sneeze. And I’m talking adults here, although kids can be among the worst (and grossest) offenders.
I’m virus-phobic, and I admit it. But listen to this, I am not making this up. (If you’re eating breakfast while you read the paper, I heartily apologize.) A while ago I was taking a class and a thirty-something guy seated at the conference table next to me kept sniffling and sniffling. I was about to offer him a tissue when he suddenly put his hand to his nose and then blew his nose into his hand and then wiped his hand on the table. A grown man! An adult person! In public! I was speechless. And felt a little ill, needless to say. How is it that we’ve managed not to succumb to the pandemic when people behave like this in public spaces?
And while we’re on the subject of other peoples’ bodily fluids, I have a question. How many times in one day should a civilized person in a modern, progressive society have to listen to the sound of a man horking up a giant phlegm-ball and spitting it onto the ground behind her?
Because this weekend I had that delightful experience twice, and one of those times was coming out of that lovely upscale craft market. The other time was in the Wal-mart parking lot, so, OK.
I know the spitting thing isn’t exactly risky in terms of germ transmission, but it’s even more disgusting than the open-faced sneeze. But the most disgusting of all? Those people who blow their noses right onto the sidewalk. I mean, come on! I’m sorry I had to bring it up, but I’ve been forced to witness this way too often lately.
So what can I do to protect myself from such a careless world of mucous-loving virus-spreaders? Well, I went to the doctor and got myself a flu shot, so that’s something. And I wash my hands pretty often – especially when I come back home from the grocery store. And I carry a bunch of little vials of that hand-sanitizer stuff in my bag, and in my car. Short of wearing a mask, I’d say I’m doing just about all I can to keep myself from getting sick.
All I can ask is that others find it in their hearts during this cold and flu season to keep their germ-laden secretions to themselves. May I suggest a tissue?
(This post was previously published in my weekly column "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
I don’t like ‘em. I’m not particularly interested in them. And I’m really not interested in anyone else’s. Do you see where I’m going with this?
The other day I was shopping when a gentleman turned toward me and sneezed. Into the air. The air that I was breathing. Did he make any attempt to cover his mouth? No. Have you seen those science shows where they show how far and fast those droplets spew? Well, I have.
Sometimes when a stranger-sneeze happens right in my space I try not to breathe for a few seconds but then when I do, I just suck air in harder, so that probably just defeats the purpose.
Anyway, just for future reference, could I please make a suggestion, sir? Just, you know, cover your mouth? And not with your hand, because then you’re just going to touch something with your germy mitt. How about sneezing into your elbow next time? That would really be appreciated.
I know everybody probably thinks this is just common sense, but I’m constantly amazed by how un-common it is to see people actually covering their mouths when they cough or sneeze. And I’m talking adults here, although kids can be among the worst (and grossest) offenders.
I’m virus-phobic, and I admit it. But listen to this, I am not making this up. (If you’re eating breakfast while you read the paper, I heartily apologize.) A while ago I was taking a class and a thirty-something guy seated at the conference table next to me kept sniffling and sniffling. I was about to offer him a tissue when he suddenly put his hand to his nose and then blew his nose into his hand and then wiped his hand on the table. A grown man! An adult person! In public! I was speechless. And felt a little ill, needless to say. How is it that we’ve managed not to succumb to the pandemic when people behave like this in public spaces?
And while we’re on the subject of other peoples’ bodily fluids, I have a question. How many times in one day should a civilized person in a modern, progressive society have to listen to the sound of a man horking up a giant phlegm-ball and spitting it onto the ground behind her?
Because this weekend I had that delightful experience twice, and one of those times was coming out of that lovely upscale craft market. The other time was in the Wal-mart parking lot, so, OK.
I know the spitting thing isn’t exactly risky in terms of germ transmission, but it’s even more disgusting than the open-faced sneeze. But the most disgusting of all? Those people who blow their noses right onto the sidewalk. I mean, come on! I’m sorry I had to bring it up, but I’ve been forced to witness this way too often lately.
So what can I do to protect myself from such a careless world of mucous-loving virus-spreaders? Well, I went to the doctor and got myself a flu shot, so that’s something. And I wash my hands pretty often – especially when I come back home from the grocery store. And I carry a bunch of little vials of that hand-sanitizer stuff in my bag, and in my car. Short of wearing a mask, I’d say I’m doing just about all I can to keep myself from getting sick.
All I can ask is that others find it in their hearts during this cold and flu season to keep their germ-laden secretions to themselves. May I suggest a tissue?
(This post was previously published in my weekly column "Don't Get Me Started" in the HRM West Community Herald.)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Is it Me, or Are You All Just Lousy Drivers?
Have people forgotten all the rules they learned in order to get their drivers' licenses? I’m thinking maybe a little constructive criticism might be in order. You know, in the interest of promoting change. So here, in the spirit of enlightenment, are my top five everyday driving annoyances.
One. You’re waiting at a red light in the left-hand lane. Traffic can either go left or straight from this lane. You are not signaling and I am waiting behind you to go straight. The light turns green and now is the moment you decide you will put your left turn signal on. And I’m stuck behind you, since the right-hand lane is full of cars happily streaming by as they go straight. Why? Why do you not signal until you’re in the middle of the intersection? The turn signal is designed to let other drivers know what your intentions are. Special note to BMW drivers: it’s the little stick thingy to the left of the steering wheel.
Two. I am pulling up to the top of my street, which ends in a “T”-shaped junction. I’m about to turn right. You are cruising down the top of the “T” from my right and intend to turn onto my street. But you’ve started the curve of your left turn about 30 meters from where you intend to actually turn, so you are casually cruising right through the top of my lane as I arrive. You look surprised. “Other people drive here?” You make a big jerky (and I do mean jerky) correction around me, and look either sheepish or annoyed as you swerve. See you again tomorrow.
Three. You’ve just pulled up to a four-way stop. A few seconds later, I pull up to the same intersection. I wait for you to take your turn. You don’t. You have no idea what to do. Apparently you think you are just supposed to wait for everybody else. More people pull up. You refuse to move. I make eye contact, toot the horn, make a little wavy motion with my hand. Nothing. Now no one knows whose turn it is. We all start to go at the same time. Except you. You are still wondering why all these dang people have stopped when you’re the one with the stop sign.
Four. I am traveling, at a safe and cautious speed of course, straight through a green light. You come roaring up on the street to my right, keen to turn right, directly into my lane. You seem to have no intention of slowing down or coming to a stop or in any way yielding to the traffic that’s already in the intersection, even though you are facing a red light. And because you’re not even looking my way, I have to a) brake hard or b) swerve away from you. Dude, just because you know you’re probably going to stop doesn’t mean I know you’re probably going to stop. Because the other day, you didn’t, and you nearly ended up with three thousand pounds of Matrix in your face.
Five. You’re in a hurry, I know. But it’s rush hour and I am in the middle of a busy intersection, awaiting a chance to turn left. Only one car in my lane gets through every light, and it’s always on the yellow. Still, as you come toward me and notice that the light has changed, you opt to gun it and cruise straight through. I am left hanging, on the red, in the middle of the intersection. Perhaps karma later gives you a flat tire, or an upset stomach, or … I don’t know, a twinge of guilt. Perhaps not. Does karma really concern itself with commuters?
One. You’re waiting at a red light in the left-hand lane. Traffic can either go left or straight from this lane. You are not signaling and I am waiting behind you to go straight. The light turns green and now is the moment you decide you will put your left turn signal on. And I’m stuck behind you, since the right-hand lane is full of cars happily streaming by as they go straight. Why? Why do you not signal until you’re in the middle of the intersection? The turn signal is designed to let other drivers know what your intentions are. Special note to BMW drivers: it’s the little stick thingy to the left of the steering wheel.
Two. I am pulling up to the top of my street, which ends in a “T”-shaped junction. I’m about to turn right. You are cruising down the top of the “T” from my right and intend to turn onto my street. But you’ve started the curve of your left turn about 30 meters from where you intend to actually turn, so you are casually cruising right through the top of my lane as I arrive. You look surprised. “Other people drive here?” You make a big jerky (and I do mean jerky) correction around me, and look either sheepish or annoyed as you swerve. See you again tomorrow.
Three. You’ve just pulled up to a four-way stop. A few seconds later, I pull up to the same intersection. I wait for you to take your turn. You don’t. You have no idea what to do. Apparently you think you are just supposed to wait for everybody else. More people pull up. You refuse to move. I make eye contact, toot the horn, make a little wavy motion with my hand. Nothing. Now no one knows whose turn it is. We all start to go at the same time. Except you. You are still wondering why all these dang people have stopped when you’re the one with the stop sign.
Four. I am traveling, at a safe and cautious speed of course, straight through a green light. You come roaring up on the street to my right, keen to turn right, directly into my lane. You seem to have no intention of slowing down or coming to a stop or in any way yielding to the traffic that’s already in the intersection, even though you are facing a red light. And because you’re not even looking my way, I have to a) brake hard or b) swerve away from you. Dude, just because you know you’re probably going to stop doesn’t mean I know you’re probably going to stop. Because the other day, you didn’t, and you nearly ended up with three thousand pounds of Matrix in your face.
Five. You’re in a hurry, I know. But it’s rush hour and I am in the middle of a busy intersection, awaiting a chance to turn left. Only one car in my lane gets through every light, and it’s always on the yellow. Still, as you come toward me and notice that the light has changed, you opt to gun it and cruise straight through. I am left hanging, on the red, in the middle of the intersection. Perhaps karma later gives you a flat tire, or an upset stomach, or … I don’t know, a twinge of guilt. Perhaps not. Does karma really concern itself with commuters?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Symbols of Love
All the flyers in my newspaper this week are decorated in garish pinks and reds, and overflowing with heart motifs, which can only mean one thing: Valentine’s Day is fast approaching.
Even though I think of it as one of those made-up “Hallmark Holidays,” the History Channel’s website tells me there’s actually a long history of celebrating St. Valentine’s Day, with various legends contending for historical credibility – some dating back as far as ancient Rome.
I’m guessing there probably weren’t as many newspaper advertising supplements offering hints on what to pick up to “enhance the romance” back during the Roman Empire. But today – no worries. Can’t decide what qualifies as a romantic gift? These retailers have lots of ideas.
The first thing you’ll probably want to pick up for your sweetheart is a 12” Singing Animated Gorilla. This circular doesn’t say what he sings, but he IS holding a rose, and he has, like, red fur. Hot!How about a three-piece set of cosmetic bags? “Here, honey. I know you practically need a duffle bag to carry around all that makeup you wear – which, by the way, did I mention makes you look totally awesome? – so I thought maybe you could use… three bags? With red hearts on them, of course. Love ya.”
Of course there’s chocolate galore. Chocolate hearts, chocolate balls, chocolate kisses. (Did you know that 77 percent of adults buy chocolates as their preferred Valentine’s Day gift? The librarians at the University of Western Ontario just taught me this.) It surely follows, as this ad indicates, that the gift of a plain old packet of Maltesers will qualify as a heartfelt expression of one’s true love. On sale, just $2.77.
The next Valentine’s insert has more plush toys – monkeys on a motorcycle! A puppy playing the electric guitar! Plus perfume, candles …and laptops. You know, laptops of love. “With a dual core processor and one gig of RAM. Get it, honey?”
Underwear is obviously big. I mean, not big underwear. Well, apparently any underwear in pink and red. But black for The Man. Because The Man does not do pink. Not in the underwear ads in these particular flyers, anyway.
Oh, here’s some Valentine’s Tylenol. Handy, in case you want one of those “Get out of Valentine’s Day free” cards. “Sorry, Dear, I’ll just take one of these romantic analgesics and hit the hay! Maybe I just had too many Maltesers.”
There’s a Valentine’s printer; that will go well with the Valentine’s laptop. And here’s some Valentine’s toilet paper! I can’t think of a single thing to say about that that isn’t some nasty double-entendre, so I’m just not even going to go there. (…Dang.)
Aww, now this is sweet. It’s a single gold earring (jewellery, very popular!). The design is timelessly romantic – a wee golden dagger delicately driven through a tiny skull that has teensy diamond eyeballs. “Darling, I just wanted to get you something that symbolized how much you mean to me.”But here it is: the one truly romantic gift I found in all of the flyers. The Valentine’s Kitchen Aid Ultra Power Stand Mixer. So sleek! So powerful! So …shiny. Seriously, I will marry the first person who gives me one of these. Sweetie, are you listening?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
