Dang

Office perks ... or lack thereof.

2011-12-27T19:41:00.007-04:00

I've made this little chart to reflect the sad reality of my everyday working life.

Free hugs: better than donuts?

2011-09-05T17:57:00.001-03:00

All I can say is: those donuts got me through some toughtimes.

When my sister was at death’s door for three solid weeks,and my brother and I spent all day, every day, at the Coronary Intensive CareUnit, sleeping there every night in a chair beside her or on a pullout couch inthe family room; when my mother had open-heart surgery – twice – and we waited,anxiously and for hours, in the waiting room, for word; when my mother livedfor months in transitional care waiting for a nursing home bed; and when,finally, my mother died at the Infirmary, after years of battling congestiveheart failure. In between, there were emergency room visits too numerous tomention, surgeries too numerous to count, and appointments, x-rays, ultrasoundsand CT scans too routine to recall.

Suffice to say, I have spent a lot of time roaming the hallsof the QEII Health Sciences Centre, and a lot of those hours were well outsideof typical “visiting hours.”

It’s not that you get hungry when you’re there, really. Butyou want comfort, a change of scene, an escape from whatever oppressive realityyou’re facing at that particular moment. And sometimes, a trip downstairs (orupstairs, if you’re in Emerg) for a sweet, sugary donut and a hot cup of coffeeis really about the only pleasure conceivable, and frankly, available, withinthe realm of that reality.

But that small respite, or part of it, is soon to beavailable no more on hospital property. Once October comes, Tim Hortons outletson the properties of Capital Health will remove all food items that don’t meetCapital Health’s “healthy food” guidelines. That means that donuts, croissantsand cinnamon buns will be out, and low-fat muffins and bagels will be in.

It’s a symbolic gesture; I understand that. Health careproviders can hardly preach healthy lifestyles and simultaneously sellunhealthy food without appearing to contradict themselves.

The thing is, at the Infirmary, the cafeteria closes nightlyat 7 pm. After that, until about one in the morning, Tim’s – and a couple ofpricey vending machines – is pretty much all you’ve got.

I will admit that I am an emotional eater. But if ever there was a timeand place for emotional eating, a dark and largely deserted hospital corridorat midnight is pretty much a justifiable time and a logical place to engage inthe practice.

Plus, let’s look at the real numbers, here. A trip to the Tim Hortonswebsite will tell you that, in terms of baked goods, the worst offender on theTim’s menu is a Walnut Crunch. At 360 calories and 23 grams of fat, it’s roughlyequivalent to snacking on a McDonalds double cheeseburger (430 calories and 22grams of fat).

But not every sweet treat is quite that bad. A soon-to-be-forbiddenBoston Cream donut has 250 calories and 8 grams of fat; not really that egregious,even when compared to a sanctioned sesame-seed bagel: 270 calories and 2.5 gramsof fat. Will cream cheese be available or verboten? If it’s allowed, adding abit of plain cream cheese to that bagel will add 144 calories and 14 grams offat.

Banning donuts is all about optics, but, admittedly, optics do matter –especially in the context of food and health care. I just think that ifadministrators want remove a significant source of symbolic comfort in thehospital, maybe they should be obliged to replace it with something equallycomforting. How about $1.50 massages and a “free hugs” kiosk?

Bullies bad, your kid good

2011-09-05T17:41:00.003-03:00

When I was about 10 years old, my family moved from a military base in Ontario to a working-class subdivision in Saint John, N.B. It was the first time I had ever lived off a base, and I was something of a fish out of water.

The kids in my new neighbourhood were pretty tough. Most had lived on the same street their entire lives. They weren’t used to having new people in their ‘hood.

My sins, apart from being new, were that I was smart (but not as smart-mouthed as I am now), I was shy and I was tiny.

There was a cement bridge at the top of my street that I had to cross to go anywhere, and that, of course, was where the kids hung out.

I think you can see where this is going.

Back in those days, we didn’t have simple, convenient, catch-all phrase – “bullying” – to describe what went on. I’m glad for that, because the things that happened and why they happened go a lot deeper than simply: “I was good, they were bad.”

All those kids on the bridge weren’t evil, tortured souls. They did some pretty mean things as a group, but they didn’t all go on to lead lives of crime, and I didn’t go on to become a saint.

And that’s, unfortunately, what the word “bullying” does. It reduces a complex set of social problems and issues around poverty, power, mental health, social status, learning abilities, self-esteem, parenting and life experience to an oversimplified concept for which we expect to find a single, simple solution.

In our own sincere, but somewhat misguided way, we feel that slapping a label on a problem brings us closer to understanding or solving it. But to try to solve “bullying” by criminalizing “bullies” or penalizing parents or demonizing the school system is not going to work.

Let’s be honest about this: kids can do stupid things. Their brains are not fully formed, they don’t have enough life experience to have perspective on anything, and they exist in a world which is a constant struggle to establish where they “fit in” and how much personal power they have.

I’m not just talking about the “bad” kids, here. ALL kids exercise poor judgement from time to time. To slap a label on them: “You’re a bully; you’re bullied” doesn’t acknowledge that all kids have a bit of bad and a bit of good in them, and that they’re constantly experimenting with that.

Look at your own kid. Is she or he a “bully?” Of course not. Is she a little insecure, and harassing another kid over her appearance or her friends? Maybe, but she volunteers on weekends at the food bank. Is your son chasing someone home regularly and threatening to beat him up for no apparent reason? Yeah, but he’s the star pitcher on the baseball team.

My point is that we need to address the issues behind the behaviours and leave these useless labels behind. Yes, the harassment of kids by other kids is wrong and needs to be addressed and prevented or punished. But can we dig a little deeper to find out what’s really going on?

Those kids on the bridge had nothing better to do. They were poor, bored, and in some cases had terrible parental role models. Calling them “bullies” wouldn’t have solved the problem. A community centre and a bit of mentoring might have.

Slow Down and Pull Over, Dammit

2011-01-19T18:22:00.002-04:00

I recently received an email from a Community Herald reader expressing concern about the lack of of public awareness around a new traffic law.

“You are likely aware there is a new law on the books related to how you are to pass an emergency vehicle stopped on the side of the road with flashing lights activated,” he wrote. “I figured it was of sufficient importance that [a sign] would be posted at the Nova Scotia-New Brunswick border along with [information about] cell phones, honey bees, 911, 511, etc. Considering that this is not a law in New Brunswick, it would be a logical addition.

“...I believe you are the perfect person to contact the Department of Transportation and find out why they are rather secretive about this new law.”

Sir, thanks for your faith in me. Let’s look at this new law:

In May of this year, a law was passed which requires drivers, when passing a stopped emergency vehicle with its lights flashing, to slow down to 60 km/hr, and to leave an empty lane between themselves and the stopped vehicle, if they can do so safely.

The fines for not slowing down, or not moving over, range from $340.21 to $685.21 for a first offence.

I had heard about this law, but a few of my friends, for instance, hadn’t, so I contacted Lindsay Lewis, spokesperson for the Nova Scotia department of Transportation and Infrastructure Renewal and asked her what kind of campaign had been undertaken to spread the word.

“We put together a fairly comprehensive education campaign leading up to the law,” she told me. “About a month out, we put out a news release just saying the law was coming. We put one out again the day before. And we also put together print ads, radio ads, TV ads [on the community channel], and online ads.

“We also made up close to 5000 post cards for emergency responders to give out ...and we made posters and sent them out to visitor information centres, Access Nova Scotia centres, and public spaces like that.”

I asked if her department had been able to gauge the overall level of public awareness of the campaign, but she said that would be a difficult thing to measure. “We did get some feedback that people still weren't aware of it, so we put together another campaign and ran it over long weekends during the summer months.”

I put my reader's suggestion, about putting a sign up at the border, to Ms. Lewis. “It's tricky,” she said, “because we have a number of road safety laws in Nova Scotia, and you can't put a sign up for every single one. We have one up for the cell phone law. We have a couple of other ones – the seatbelt law, obviously. ...We do put this information in the visitor information centres, and in the Doers’ and Dreamers’ Guide, so hopefully consumers can get the information that way.”

I’m with my reader on this one. I don’t think it would be that problematic for drivers to have to read another sign at the border. However, I would suggest that this whole issue is less about secrecy and more about a somewhat ineffectual public information campaign.

But, thanks to his concern, we can safely say that at least a few more people are now in the know about the law.

To find out more, go to gov.ns.ca/tran/hottopics/keepmesafe.asp.

Living Out Loud

2010-12-29T14:08:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I think they do this just to torture me. Over and over, Halifax Regional Council raises the spectre of forcing the citizens of HRM to use clear garbage bags, only to retreat and defer the decision to another day, another year, another set of councillors.

I’ll be honest: Despite the fact that I know that the intentions are good, and the plan is meant to be “better for the environment,” I hate the idea.

HRM Solid Waste Resources has proposed that the current household bag limit should be reduced from six to four every two weeks, and that three of the four garbage bags should be clear. One black or green bag would be allowed per pickup.

The argument is that more than 30 percent of the household waste going to the landfill shouldn’t be in the waste stream.

Well, it can’t be that we’re not trying. In my house, I have seven—count ‘em—seven separate receptacles for various types of trash. There’s a container with a blue bag, of course, for cans, bottles and plastics. There’s the green bin, for compostables. I have a separate “green basket” for boxboard that doesn’t fit into the small green bin. I have another basket for newspapers (yes, I am that old-school). I have another bin that used to hold potatoes but had to be repurposed to contain all the plastic bags (bread bags, frozen food bags, etc) that will eventually go, in their own plastic bag, into the blue bag, as is the format requested by HRM. Then there’s the fine paper receptacle in my office. Oh, and finally, the actual garbage can.

Already, all of this separating has meant that much of what I don’t use (I guess I can’t really call it “garbage”) is laid out for full inspection by whoever collects it.

My green-cart collectors must be fully aware that I have a certain propensity for frozen pizzas; that I enjoy a bit of cereal, and apparently drink a lot of coffee, for breakfast; and that I may be in the midst of a bad cold right now, because I’m going through an awful lot of tissue boxes. The men that steal from my blue bag know that I enjoy a cold can of beer now and then, and that we go through a fair bit of homogenized milk in our coffee. The paper collectors, if they were to chat with the green-bin guys, might guess that I read those newspapers with my morning coffee. They also know that I do an awful lot of typing and printing of stuff. (For the record, I rip up all my fine paper before putting it in the bin, and I shred pages that might reveal personal identities or information.)

I am already living out loud through my garbage. How much more bare must I lay my life?

That one black bag we might be allowed is supposed to assuage all the concerns about the further invasion of privacy that clear bags represent, but that just doesn’t cut it. And frankly, I can barely stomach the thought of a walk around the block on trash day.

I think the people who are trying to comply with keeping recyclables out of the landfills ARE trying, and the people who may not be trying as hard, simply may not get it. It’s really complicated, and it’s hard to get it right.

If our citizens aren’t able to understand, I call that a failure of education on HRM’s part. They should keep their eyes on their own educational shortcomings, and out of my bags of trash.

New Building, Big Turn-on

2010-12-29T14:05:00.001-04:00

I’ll tell you what gets me excited: Architecture, baby.

That’s right; I said it. Buildings turn me on. More specifically, the architecture of the proposed Halifax Central Library – now that is a building design I could really settle down with.

This peculiar love of mine may go back to the year I spent, way back in the ‘80s, working at the School of Architecture here in Halifax. My job was to hand-label hundreds of slides featuring photos of great buildings from all over the world, and to create a database of those slides. My office was a tiny former bathroom with a computer, a light table, a teensy little window, and not much else.

Sounds tedious, doesn’t it? Perhaps for some folks it would have been, but for me it was a fantastic education. As I explored and researched slide after slide, I learned that every city holds the potential to embrace its culture, to showcase its strengths and to inspire its citizens through visionary architecture.

And as I watch the design process for the new library unfold, I get more and more excited about the impact that this building’s design could have on this city.

For one thing, the architects have been paying close attention to what the people of Halifax want. In a series of public meetings, the designers (Halifax’s Fowler Bauld & Mitchell with international partner schmidt hammer lassen) have asked questions, consulted, brainstormed and explored ideas with citizens who really care about this building and its role in the wider community.

That’s led to a design – not yet fully finalized – that’s both functional and beautiful. The exterior is bold and dramatic. Most striking is the top-floor “slab” which would feature a panoramic view of downtown and the harbour. The floor below is twisted slightly askew, jutting out at the corners with glass that appears orange from outside, but which provides a clear, non-coloured view from inside. The building “envelope” is largely transparent, with some patterned panels, allowing for plenty of natural light.

The interior will be simultaneously grand and intimate. There will be a floor-to-ceiling atrium with impressive staircases, yet the building will have plenty of study areas, quiet spaces, play spaces, and meeting spaces. The building will be fully wired for technology, fully accessible and will feature a ground-floor cafe, performance/public space, and an abundance of green, both inside and out.

Oh, and books. Lots of books. Project Director, George Cotaras of Fowler Bauld & Mitchell laughed as he confessed during the most recent public design consultation that people had expressed concern that early designs hadn’t shown many actual books in the library. He assured the group that the new collection will, in fact, feature a 50% larger collection than the Spring Garden Road Memorial library’s current holdings.

Most importantly, I think, the building will be a space in which every citizen of the municipality can feel a sense of ownership and pride of place. I don’t care if you live in Hackett’s Cove, Harrietsfield or Hubley, this building will have something in it for you, even if that’s just a comfortable place to sit and relax while you wait for your spouse to see a doctor over at the QEII.

You’ll notice I haven’t once said, “Compared to the plan for the Halifax convention centre.”

If all goes according to plan, Halifax’s new central library will open in 2014.

Oh, Hello, Officer

2010-12-29T14:02:00.000-04:00

Call me crazy, but pretty much the last thing I want to see when I answer my doorbell is a police officer standing on my front step.

No offence to police officers. Drop-ins by religious evangelists are almost equally disconcerting – although, on second thought, I take that back. The religious folks are usually there to deliver “the good news.” An unplanned visit from a police officer usually means bad news for someone.

Last week, I had a very friendly police officer stop by to ask if I had noticed anything unusual across the street the night before. Unfortunately, I hadn’t, and also unfortunately, her visit meant that the house across the street from me had been burglarized.

A few days later, a neighbour from just up the street approached me as I was mowing my lawn. “I don’t suppose you noticed anything unusual around my house yesterday?” he asked. My heart sank. The police car showed up at his house shortly after we spoke.

Then something else happened that shook me up a little bit.

I had decided to go for a mid-morning walk around my neighbourhood to look for a little inspiration for this week’s column.

As I rounded the corner at the bottom of my street, I heard someone running behind me. When I turned to look, a tall man brushed quickly past me, dressed in a black parka, black toque and black sunglasses. He glanced back at me, and I was sure I was about to be mugged. Then he darted into a nearby yard.

“That guy’s not just out for a jog,” I cleverly observed. Then a van, marked “Shopping Centre Security” came zooming around the corner. The mall is just a few blocks away from where I was walking, and the driver was clearly in pursuit of this fellow. Rather uselessly, I pointed toward the yard he’d run into.

The security guard followed him a bit in the vehicle, before quickly driving off around the block. I could see the runner tearing up through the back yards, in the same direction I was going.

That’s when I realized I was standing on a relatively deserted side street a few blocks from home and some presumably-criminal guy was hiding out in the yards I had to pass by to get home safely.

So much for my quiet walk, but I did get the inspiration I’d been seeking.

The thing is, I’m not really sure what to conclude about it all. Crimes like this happen all the time, although I’m disappointed to hear about them happening within a short walk of my home. I guess it’s the feeling of not being safe in my own neighbourhood that’s bothering me.

I could rant about “crime being on the upswing,” but it isn’t, really. Statistics Canada’s 2009 “Criminal Victimization in Canada” survey concluded that the overall rate of household crimes, including break and enters, has remained stable since 2004. However, the Halifax Regional Police Department did note in a September press release that crime in HRM is up slightly this year, driven by an increase in property crime.

I suppose the lesson is that I shouldn’t get too complacent. At least I got a heads-up to go around and confirm that all my basement windows are secure.

Yesterday the police were in front of my house again, interviewing someone about what I presume was yet another break-in. So, in light of this new reality, I’d just like to say one thing: police officers, you are now welcome to stop by any time.

The Jane Goodall of Traffic

2010-12-29T13:59:00.000-04:00

In traffic, as in life, there used to be a few standard rules a person could count on: a stop sign or a red light meant, “Come to a full stop here, my good fellow.” And a yellow light meant, “Whoa, slow down, yo.”

But lately I’ve noticed – sharp-eyed trend-watcher that I am – that Haligonian drivers are running yellow lights, red lights and stop signs with rather disconcerting regularity.

I’ll admit that I occasionally drive through a yellow light myself, particularly if I feel that there’s a strong risk that my car will get rear-ended if I stop in a hurry.

That said, there are plenty of drivers who seem to see a yellow light as an invitation to speed up, and a stop sign as a vague suggestion to slow down. How do I know? Well, in the interests of science and journalism and good governance, I put on my invisible “special constable” hat, and went out onto the streets of Halifax to become the Jane Goodall of Traffic.

Now, I know that as good Canadians we’re not supposed to trust raw data anymore. Apparently, it’s best to just let some federal government spokes-type make vague assertions about “the way things are” and leave it at that. But you know me. I just don’t trust The Man the way I should.

So I parked my butt at the intersection of Oxford and Almon Streets at nine-thirty on a weekday morning to test out my traffic theories. Over the course of twenty minutes, I watched a dozen drivers gun it to make it through a yellow light, and saw six drivers more or less run a red light. My thesis was proving correct.

But I’d noticed that it wasn’t just traffic lights that people seemed to be barrelling through, so my notebook and I moved to the four-way stop at Harvard and Allan Streets. Perhaps “four-way STOP” is the wrong name for this type of intersection. In a twenty minute period I watched a mere nineteen cars (or 28%) come to a full stop. Twenty-nine cars (or 43%) slowed down a bit and then rolled right though the intersection. But another 28% barely touched the brake pedal at all, more or less driving straight through the stop sign. Rather amusingly, one of those non-stopping vehicles was actually a truck marked “Traffic Control Division.”

Anyway, my next stakeout was on the street that runs down past the Halifax Shopping Centre, between Bayers and Mumford Roads. Apparently, this street is called “Halifax Shopping Centre Boulevard.” Halfway down, there’s a three-way stop that intersects with the lower level of the parking garage.

It was here that I witnessed the most glaring offences of my entire scientific survey. Only 17% of the drivers I watched came to a stop at any of the three stop signs. Almost half - 48% - just touched the brake then rolled through. But most disconcerting of all, 34% - that was forty-seven drivers in twenty minutes – barely slowed at all, and most drove right through at full speed.

What, exactly, is the point of my Nobel-worthy research, you may ask? To provide proof of humanity’s further downward slide into amorality and corruption? Yes. Oh, and also to remind people to watch out for these goofballs. The police can’t be everywhere at once, so I think we could all benefit from being a little more watchful for these traffic anarchists.

And if you need a bit of happy government-style spin on my rather depressing findings, how’s this? “Halifax Drivers Going Green: Minimal Wear on Brake Pads Means Fewer Car Parts in Landfill.”

Just Don't

2010-10-12T15:44:00.004-03:00

I just happened to see a tweet flash by from a lifestyle magazine that promised to let me in on "12 Ways to Avoid Cancer."

Call me crazy, but I'm not so sure that a 12-step list can cover all the essential, but complex, information I might need to avoid something as involved as cancer, so I thought maybe I should draw up my own, common-sense list.

This one, I think, covers it:

Mombo's 12 Ways to Prevent Cancer:

1. Don’t Eat Anything
2. Don’t Drink Water, Especially Tap Water
3. Don’t Drink Booze
4. Don’t Drink Coffee, Tea, or Milk or Anything Else
5. Don’t Smoke Anything
6. Don’t Breathe Anything
7. Don’t Touch Anything
8. Don’t Paint Your Toenails, Your Room, Your House or Anything Else
9. Don’t Dye Your Hair, Your Clothing, Your Cat’s Fur, or Anything
10. & 11. Don’t Expose Yourself to Sunlight, Chemicals, Toxic Waste, Traffic Fumes, Electric Fields, Enclosed Buildings, New Carpets or Anything Else
12. Don’t Think, Don't Worry and Don't Get Stressed about Anything

There, 12 simple steps that you can follow in your everyday life.

So Long to My Happy Halipuppy

2010-09-27T11:23:00.005-03:00

My sweet old dog died a couple of days ago, and I’m finding it more or less impossible to think about anything else, so this week we are going to talk dogs.

Let me tell you a bit about mine: Her name was Emma, and she was a 14-year-old yellow Labrador Retriever. She liked cheese, squeaky toys, and licking out the almost-empty peanut butter jar.

We’d had her since she was only eight weeks old. She was a very friendly dog, in the way that Labs are. She never heard a child’s voice without an eager “whap” of her tail. She never met a person or a food group that she didn’t like (although, like most of us, she could take or leave salespeople and brussels sprouts).

She spent her entire life in Halifax, except for those first 8 weeks down in Nictaux Falls, and I’m glad she was able to live her life in such a dog-friendly city.

Halifax, when you think about it, is a pretty great place to raise a dog. I look at cities like New York and Toronto, where green spaces and rugged wooded areas are really hard to find, and I compare them to Halifax, where there are just so many beautiful places for a dog and her people to go and get their ya-ya’s out.

What would dog owners do, for example, without Point Pleasant Park? Emma and I must have covered every inch of that park, hundreds of times over. Having the freedom to let Emma run around off-leash was both a blessing and a curse (especially during her disobedient puppy years), but it was really one of the keys to her long and happy life.

Long Lake was another favourite place for us. I loved the scenic wooded trails and the sense of quiet remoteness, and she – without question – loved the lake. She was a swimmer, and a retriever, and in her prime she would obsessively chase sticks, balls, Frisbees, or anything floatable that was thrown out into the water for her.

We also explored the wooded off-leash trails in Shubie Park and Hemlock Ravine on occasion. And when she was younger, before she tore a ligament in her knee, Emma was Queen of the Graceful and Athletic Frisbee catchers on Conrose Field, off Jubilee Road.

But this isn’t even scratching the surface of Halifax’s dog-friendly spaces. There are so many other beautiful parks and trails. If you’re new to town and aren’t quite sure where to take your pooch, there’s a full list of off-leash parks and sports fields available on the HRM website at
http://www.halifax.ca/realpropertyplanning/OLPS/olps_maps.html

You can also find information about the numerous walking trails around HRM here: http://www.halifax.ca/rec/TrailsHrm.html

Pet owners in Halifax have got it pretty good. Being responsible enough to pick up a bit of poop is a small price to pay for living in a city where you can easily raise a happy, healthy companion to a ripe old age.

We already miss Emma terribly, but she certainly lived the good life here with us. Happy trails to my gorgeous old girl.

Brownie Survivial Skills

2010-09-27T11:19:00.003-03:00

As I write this, Hurricane Earl is bearing down on Nova Scotia with a rather disconcertingly direct bead on our suddenly fragile-looking maritime province. Tropical Storm Fiona isn’t far behind.

On the plus side, though, the threat of a major storm has allowed me to fully indulge my inner Brownie/Girl Guide. “Be prepared,” we, of the teensy brown uniforms, were taught. “Take action for a better world,” we were made to promise. That may seem like a lot of responsibility to heap on the shoulders of an eight-year-old (can you say “anxiety attack”?) but most of us seemed okay with it.

I probably don’t need to tell you that I was a very successful Brownie. I was “Sixer” of the Pixies – a responsibility I took rather seriously – and even today, you probably shouldn’t mess with me, or I WILL make you re-tie that reef knot in your neckerchief. However, I have to confess that was only an actual Girl Guide for, like, one day. The Brownies “flew me up” because I was about to move to another province, and I never actually joined the Guides in my new home town.

Still, the Brownies taught me everything I needed to know about how to braid hair (read: how to fashion an escape rope out of torn-up bedsheets), how to make a cake (read: how to forage for emergency rations), and, if I recall correctly, how to pick up trash (read: post-disaster cleanup). And now, many decades later, thanks to global warming and my penchant for living near the ocean, I may get to, once again, put all of those skills to good use!

So, the Brownie in me is finding it rather entertaining to peruse my cupboards and ponder mysteries like, “If I ate cold cream of chicken soup right out of the can, would that kill me?”

“If my frozen microwavable dinners all thawed out, could I conceivably cook them with the help of some cleverly-folded tinfoil and a skilfully-wielded brûlée torch?”

And, “Isn’t a tub of melted ice cream really just chocolate soup?”

Resourcefulness is the key thing we ex-Brownies have going for us, and it serves us well in situations like imminent hurricanes, erupting volcanoes, and surprise visits from the in-laws. I seem to recall once whipping up a delightful appetizer out of week-old nacho chips, leftover martini olives, tinned chickpeas and squeeze-cheese. Necessity breeds invention.

But of course, the ideal scenario is that I never actually get to put my snake-bite, lightning-strike, flash-flood, or ripped-off-roof skills to the test. So, I’ve got my fingers crossed that, as you’re reading this, I haven’t spent the past week grating coffee beans on an orange zester and heating water over some burning sticks in the back yard to get my morning caffeine fix.

Not that I wouldn’t enjoy that. And just in case, I’m off to sharpen up that zester.

Back Off my Jill Barber

2010-09-14T14:59:00.001-03:00

Perhaps the first word that comes to mind when you think of fiddler Natalie MacMaster isn’t “painter.” Ditto actor Brent Butt of “Corner Gas” fame, and legendary Rush guitarist Alex Lifeson.

And, although I think we could all agree that these folks are talented artists in their own right, I’m guessing that, like me, you’ve never thought of them as artists in the sense of painters, with brushes. On canvas.

But the Kidney Foundation of Canada has seen their full artistic potential, and it’s currently gearing up for a clever fundraiser called “Brush of Hope.” The foundation invites celebrities – mostly Canadian – to create a work of art on canvas, which will be auctioned off on eBay to raise money for kidney research in Canada.

It’s the brainchild of Tim Fox, who is the Executive Director of the New Brunswick/PEI branch of the Kidney Foundation. He brought the idea with him when he moved to Atlantic Canada from the Ontario branch of the Foundation, and he’s been spreading the word via a Facebook group called “A Brush of Hope - Celebrity Paintings for Kidney Research.”

“Last year was the first year that we did in the Maritimes, and it was very popular here,” Fox told me. “So many of the local musicians really picked up on it, there was a lot of “Atlantic Canada” flavour to it. I was thrilled, because I was literally getting people Facebook-ing me saying, ‘Can I paint too?’ It was wonderful.”

Last year the project raised $13,000. This year, Fox hopes to raise at least $15,000, which shouldn’t be too difficult, given the list of celebrities he’s already got on board. The Facebook site already features paintings done by a whole host of familiar personalities, including musicians Jill Barber, Christina Martin, and Natalie MacMaster. There are also works by Canadian and American football players such as Glenn January (of the Winnipeg Blue Bombers), and “NFL Football great” Steve Christie. The site even boasts a limited edition print by Leonard Cohen.

Promised, but not yet posted, are works by Cathy Jones, Shaun Majumder, Brent Butt, Ron James, Tie Domi, and a long list of athletes, musicians, actors and comedians, including the aforementioned Alex Lifeson.

“Alex is definitely a highlight for us,” says Fox. “We asked him if he would paint for us, and I think, to be honest, he was very pleasantly surprised with how well his first painting sold. It sold for $3000, and that really got him excited, so he painted the next year and it sold for $5700. He has been with us every step of the way.”
That’s a nice chunk of change, but I’m betting that you and I will be able to get a lovely little work of art with a bit of celebrity cachet for a whole lot less than that.

Either way, the money goes toward a good cause. “Organ donation awareness and transplantation is a big part of the mission of the kidney foundation,” says Fox. “At any given time, about four thousand Canadians are waiting for a transplant, and just under three thousand of those are waiting for a kidney.”

If you think you might like to do some good and be the proud owner of an Alfie Zappacosta original, check out the Facebook site. More paintings will be posted between now and October, and the auction will run on eBay from October 21 to 31. Each painting will start at $49 USD and will, of course, be sold to the highest bidder. And hands off my Jill Barber.

Customer Dis-Service

2010-09-14T14:57:00.000-03:00

Because I’m a stereotypically-undervalued arts and culture worker, I don’t have a whole lot of disposable cash to spread around, all carelessly and willy-nilly and stuff. So when I do spend my hard-earned pay, I like to do it at companies that I feel have somehow earned, or at least in some way deserve, my business.

Unfortunately, I’ve noticed a rather unfortunate pattern when I’ve been out shopping around Halifax lately: it appears that many of the bigger businesses have entirely given up on training their staff.

I don’t have any statistics to back up my conclusion, because statistics, as you know, are now considered suspect by our federal government. So, in the new Canadian spirit of going forward without all the information, I will do just that, and draw my own biased conclusions.

First of all, it appears that there is no one out there explaining to the people behind the cash registers that “No problem” is not an equivalent response to “You’re welcome.”

Listen to me: it’s not the same at all. “No problem” implies that there might, in fact, have been a problem.

I’m no marketing expert, but I think that if customers are NOT walking out of your store mumbling, “You wanna bet it’s no problem, Bucko,” then that is a win/win scenario. This is just one example of how a little simple training in terms of customer relations and expectations could possibly go a long way.

Here’s another example of a training void: product knowledge. I recently tried to purchase some house paint, at a chain store whose name combines both our nationality and the round rubber things that support our cars. “Point me to your exterior latex white paint,” I said to the gentleman, who proceeded to point me to a can of primer.

“Perhaps you could direct me to someone who works in this department,” I suggested. “Oh, this is my department,” he assured me. “What about this?” he asked, indicating a can of deck-surfacing substance.

I did not purchase any paint on that occasion.

A few days later, a fan, which had been running pretty much 24/7 at my home for the past month, died. Desperate, I phoned all over town to find a new one, without much luck. Then, I checked a nearby department store’s website, and was excited when I saw that the location closest to me had the fan I needed, in stock.

“Nope,” said the young man, when I called to ask if he could hold it for me. “We ain’t got any fans at all.” He spoke in that dead-sounding, “I-could-not-care-less-about-your-problem” tone of voice. After a bit of back-and forth, in which he blamed me for having the wrong information, I gave up. “Well, thanks for all your help, and thanks for being so polite,” I said.

I believe the sarcasm may have been lost on him.

Perhaps if these things hadn’t all happened within a few days of one another, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but because it’s becoming a regular occurrence, it’s beginning to feel like part of a bigger problem.

So, how about this? If companies don’t want to invest in their employees, then may I suggest that they just employ robots or set up kiosks or something?

At least a blank stare and a monotone reply from a machine wouldn’t feel quite as ungrateful for my patronage.

A Case of Convention Centre Ennui

2010-09-14T14:55:00.000-03:00

Like a lot of people, I suppose, I have a case of convention centre exhaustion. Perhaps by the time you read this, we’ll know whether the province plans to support the controversial downtown development or not. But I’d still like to make one point.

It’s not about potential tax revenues, or large-scale economic impact, or view planes, or even whether potential conventioneers “need” a new venue with bigger rooms or higher ceilings or whatever.

I just want to take issue with one element of the pro-downtown-convention-centre argument: the suggestion that a convention centre would somehow “revitalize” downtown Halifax, in the cultural sense.

Here’s just one example of that argument. In a recent letter to Halifax Magazine, Nova Scotia Business Inc. CEO, Stephen Lund, extolled what he saw as the benefits of the potential office space attached to the project.

“We’d like to see this tower filled with young finance and accounting grads,” he wrote. “Imagine, for a moment, 2,000 to 2,500 more young people working in downtown Halifax, making wages two to three times the average in our province. ...Think of the money they will spend on new cars, houses and restaurants.”

Oh, I’m imagining it. I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings or anything, but a downtown crawling with thousands of young accountants is simply not my idea of a cultural hotbed.

Young financiers aside, this convention centre, if it comes to pass, won’t do anything directly to make downtown Halifax more interesting, more vibrant, or more attractive for Haligonians. Sure, there will be more tourists and office workers around with cash to spend, but downtown has to be about more than bars, offices, hotels and kitschy chain restaurants.

We really need to see more effort put into nurturing the kind of mixed-use applications that might make Haligonians actually want to live and play downtown. Why are there so few families living in the downtown core? Could it be because there’s a lack of affordable housing, few local markets, and very little green space?

We need more support for local businesses that will make our city’s streets more interesting for the citizens of Halifax, not for tourists and visitors. I want my downtown to be full of independently-owned shops selling interesting and original things you can’t buy in tourist outlets or big-box business parks.

I want niche restaurants, a place to get a good burrito, a greasy shawarma or a tasty roti, and spaces where I can sit and people-watch while I enjoy it. I want outdoor performance spaces, buskers, public art and engaging, street-scale, people-friendly architecture.

The fact that so much of the talk about the proposed convention centre is about the potential impact on the economy – and not the culture – of Halifax is disheartening.

If I could spend a Saturday walking around and enjoying my own city, I’d be thrilled. If we opt to leave the downtown in the hands of the accountants and the conventioneers, I suspect we really will get what we pay for.

Swimmin' Stats

2010-09-14T14:50:00.004-03:00

I am neither a meteorologist nor a mathematician, but I know a weather-related statistical problem when I see one.

Here’s what it is. So far, this week, Halifax’s harbour beaches have been closed every single day. That’s despite the renewed assurances from the mayor and Halifax Water that, thanks to the sewage treatment plant being back online, everything is A-Ok for swimming at Black Rock Beach and Dingle Park again.

This week’s closures have been due to this: any time there is a “heavy rain event” (and I take that term from a news release issued by the Mayor’s office in conjunction with Halifax Water) the wastewater discharged from the “combined sewer overflow chambers” will not receive full treatment, and will be discharged, after screening, directly into the harbour.

“Following the heavy rain events, swimmers should not swim in the harbour for three days,” says the Halifax Regional Municipality’s announcement.

Now, I’ve lived in Halifax for many, many years, and I happen to know that it tends to rain here fairly often during the summer months. Therefore, I have theorized that, if each time there is a heavy rainfall it means that the beaches will be closed for the next three days, the beaches are going to be closed...uh, a lot.

I am a Virgo, though, so not to go on gut instinct alone, I have collected some facts and figures to back up my hypothesis.

I called James Campbell at Halifax Water to ask what the municipality’s definition of “heavy rainfall” is, but he told me it was a difficult thing to put numbers on. “It all depends on the duration and the volume,” he said, indicating that short bursts of rainfall were more likely to overwhelm the system than an all-day rain.

Then I went to the Environment Canada website and started looking back at the climate data for the summer months in Halifax. Since we don’t really know what the tipping point for our sewage system is, I’ve looked at days with “greater than 5mm” of rain on a single day. Between 1971 and 2000, the number of days with that amount of rainfall breaks down as follows:

In the month of June, there have historically been 5.8 days with rainfall greater than or equal to 5 mm. In July, there are usually 4.5 days, and in August, we typically have 4.7 days with that much rain.

That means that, on average, 15 days out of 92 (in June, July and August) have a pretty good dump of rain. And that means that on 45 of those 92 days, the beaches (had they been subject to today’s conditions) might have been closed, depending on how intense the rainfall was. That’s not to mention the 15 days on which it actually rained, so there would most likely have been no one swimming, anyway.

My conclusion, then, is that, despite all the talk about the harbour being so swimmable, the likelihood is that even with the sewage treatment plant online, the water could still be un-swimmable for fully two-thirds of the summer.

So, I guess it might be best not to plan any beach parties at Black Rock or the Dingle this summer (or really, any summer), because the stats simply do not appear to be measuring up in your favour.

Falling Through the Cracks of the Mental Health System

2010-09-14T14:46:00.003-03:00

After my Mom passed away, I had thought I was finished with the role of caregiver for a while. I’d also thought I was finished with the constant battle I’d faced to find the right kind of care and support for an ailing senior in this city.

Unfortunately, a dear relative of mine has fallen ill, and I’m now caring for him in my home, until I can get him the kind of help he’ll need to return to his own home, safely.

It’s been a frustrating experience so far.

The frustration begins at his family doctor’s office. The doctor herself is incredibly kind and caring, and she has been an absolute godsend through this crisis, but she is so massively overburdened with patients that it’s very difficult to get access to her, even when a problem is urgent.

Then there’s the provincial system of “Continuing Care,” which is supposedly designed to help Nova Scotians deal with just this kind of healthcare crisis, and to help them get the support they need to stay in their homes. Unfortunately, it has taken three weeks to even get an appointment with a care coordinator who will assess the situation (even though I’ve called twice and suggested the situation was urgent). I’m told it will take another six to eight weeks to get any kind of care in place.

Next, there’s the problem of dealing with an illness that’s simply not recognized or understood by many people. In this case, we are dealing with a mental illness; a level of depression so crippling that it renders my beloved relative incapable of caring for himself.

But most people seem to think it means he’s just a little down. I honestly think that if one more “well-meaning” person tells me that all he needs is to get out for a good walk, I may punch that person square in the face.

When I phoned Veterans Affairs, for example, to find out what kind of help he might qualify for from them, the dull-witted youngster who was manning the phone line asked what the nature of his disability was. “Mental illness,” I said. “Clinical depression.” And she said, “No, but what kind of physical disability does he have?”

I will confess that I rather lost it on the phone. No matter; he doesn’t qualify for their help, anyway.

There is a Seniors Mental Health Program at Capital Health, but it can only be accessed through a doctor’s referral (more waiting) or, as we finally had to do, through a visit to the emergency room. I have high hopes for that program, but our date with them is still another week away.

My point, I guess, is that unless you’re willing to dig hard, and unless you know where to look, there’s no easy point of access to care. I’ve spent the better part of the past three weeks interviewing respite care providers and private homecare providers, exploring seniors’ day programs and tracking down mental health resources in Halifax. I’ve sat for hours in various offices and waiting rooms getting medical, legal, and financial advice.

I did find one excellent resource in a service called Caregivers Nova Scotia (caregiversns.org or 431-3297). The person who answers the support line there, offered me an extensive list of suggestions, and, perhaps most importantly, some sympathy.

Caregiving is a tough job, but one I’ve taken on out of love and loyalty. I could use a little help, though. Unfortunately, it feels like we’ve fallen into a gaping hole in the healthcare system.

(Ir)Responsible Pet Ownership

2010-06-07T14:44:00.012-03:00

Oh sure, she looks innocent enough.

My message today is about responsible pet ownership, although I’m probably not qualified to speak on this subject anymore because, as I type this, I’m nursing a fairly significant cat bite on my right forearm.

It was my own cat, Annie, who bit me, and I guess it was my fault, since I was silly enough to reach in front of her to grab the TV remote. So I more or less got what I deserved, from her perspective, anyway.

But thanks to a deep puncture wound and several signs of obvious infection, I’ve had to endure a rather painful tetanus shot and a week-long round of nauseating antibiotics.

Despite that, I’m trying to not hold a grudge against her, or against cats in general, because I really want to make a point about what lovely pets kitty-cats are. And they truly are lovely, except when they’re not, which, thankfully, is rare.

By now you can see why I could never hold a job in sales (sorry about that lousy summer, Electrolux). Perhaps you’ll just trust me when I say (1) Cats are Great, and (2) Cat Ownership Must Be Taken Seriously.

This is partly top of mind for me because the Spring newsletter recently came out from the Bide Awhile animal shelter in Dartmouth, and, unfortunately, according to Executive Director Darrold Gould, Spring is “kitten season.”

That’s when all the unneutered and unspayed cats, who have been sticking fairly close to home throughout the dreary winter months, suddenly have the undeniable urge to go out and get their frisk on, much like college students, or bonobos, or the neighbours who used to live upstairs from me.

And that means that shelters like Gould’s, which are always busy, are now exceptionally busy.

It’s a problem that could be solved, in part, says Gould, if people just thought ahead a bit before jumping on the “free kitten” bandwagon.

“If you went on Kijiji today, you'd find in excess of five thousand animals being given away,” he observes. “But one of the things we hear a lot is that people who get free animals then can't afford to have them spayed or neutered.”

He says those neutering costs could be reduced significantly by simply adopting a shelter cat. “For a very nominal cost - $125, compared to paying the whole cost themselves – people get an animal that's been blood tested, vaccinated, de-wormed and spayed or neutered. And that's normal for most shelters. The whole idea is to help the community reduce the population, and not create more of a problem.”

It’s win/win, really. And speaking of winning, the other reason Bide Awhile is top of mind for me this week is this: a photo of my dog and cat relaxing together has been selected as a “Pet of the Month” for the 2011 Bide Awhile calendar.

Last December, my nephew made a donation to Bide Awhile as his Christmas gift to me. The donation included his submission of said photo, which was to appear on my birthday as “Pet of the Day.”

This week, he got a call from Bide Awhile telling him that this photo had made it into the highly coveted “Pet of the Month” category.

So I guess having a pin-up cat makes up for some of the grief. And if my joyful tale of pet ownership has you now chomping at the bit for your own kitty (perhaps that’s a poor choice of words), please see point (2) above, and try to be part of the solution.

Solving Halifax's Budget Problems

2010-04-29T12:24:00.001-03:00

By now, we’ve all heard quite a bit about the $30-million budget shortfall that the Halifax Regional Municipality is facing.

And we’ve heard some of the rather frantic suggestions coming from Halifax Regional Council about how the municipality should deal with that budget shortfall. Those suggestions have ranged from raising the general tax rate, to increasing parking meter fees, to charging more to bury the dead in cemeteries owned by the city.

I’m certainly no financial wizard – just ask my accountant, who has a pretty good laugh every year when I bring him my tax information – but I have creative-thinking skills on my side, so I’ve been putting my head into coming up with some better ways for our municipal government to save money and, hopefully, to perk up those sagging revenues.

First of all, there’s a fully-financially-exploitable phenomenon happening daily, right under our noses, and we’re just not taking advantage of it. I’m referring, of course, to street hockey. If these rollerblading rug-rats want to use our streets for free every day, well, they can just forget it. From now on, when the police aren’t in there busting up some spirited scrimmage (or, you know, whatever the equivalent hockey term is) they should be diligently collecting mandatory street-rink dues. What, we’re supposed to just let these kids have fun for free? It costs money to get in shape and have fun; I know this because that’s how it works for adults. Besides, who has more money these days? The kids are hoarding their allowances and fast-food restaurant salaries, and that is an opportunity ripe for the exploitation.

Here’s another great idea: implement a fine which will be applied to HRM council members each time one of them utters the words “cat”, “dog”’ or “chicken” during a council meeting. Well, unless it’s lunch time, I guess. And in that case, only “chicken” gets a pass. Actually, on second thought, I think I’m going to give the word “chicken” a pass entirely, because I foresee much more chicken-talk in our future, given that many other parts of the civilized world have more or less embraced the urban-chicken phenomenon. Plus, that debate holds a lot of potential entertainment value. So, okay, councillors can say “chicken.” But “dog” and “cat” – still big fines for those ones.

Speaking of our hard-working council members, how about this one? A “talking tax,” to be charged to any councillor who doesn’t make at least one valid point per five minutes of speaking-time during council meetings. I think this could be a big income-generator for the city, because I don’t think the tax would serve as much of a deterrent to the actual behavior, which often seems to be more motivated by grandstanding than actual logical arguing. But I’m just generalizing here; I mean, as a rule, certainly it appears, if the honourable councillors would agree, that in terms of this particular situation, if I could just make the point...

And, okay, not to totally pick on council, but I had just one more revenue-generating idea for our local government: what about a “lip-service levy” each time a city councillor, who travels exclusively by car, recommends that everyone else take the bus? Again: potential to be a big money-maker for us.

See? All it takes is a little creative thinking. I bet, if we all put our heads together, we could collectively come up with all sorts of ingenious ways to dig our lovely city out of its unfortunate $30-million hole.

Tatoo Speling

2010-04-29T12:20:00.001-03:00

Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes. But thankfully, our mistakes don’t always have permanent consequences.

Unless, of course, we’re talking about tattoos, which are pretty, you know…permanent.

You may have read a recent piece in the Chronicle Herald, which told the tragic tale of a local tattoo artist, an unhappy tattoo customer, and a lawsuit.

It appears that this customer had requested a tattoo on her arm which was to read “You’re so beautiful.”

Unfortunately, both the tattoo artist and the customer seem to have been a bit spelling-challenged, and the tattoo, when all was said and done, actually read, “You’re so beatiful” (sic).

Wouldn’t you just kick yourself? I do have to give these two individuals big points for getting the “you’re” right, though, because I would have thought that it was the more difficult word in that sentence, spelling-wise. But all criticisms of why someone would want that particular sentence tattooed onto her person aside, we have to admit that a misspelled tattoo is a very big problem.

Regrettably, it’s not an unusual problem. You don’t have to dig very deep into the wonders of the world wide web to find other examples of tattoos gone horribly wrong.

For example, one young gentleman with particularly healthy self-esteem (apparently, much like our unfortunate local lady) had the following words tattooed in a lovely, ornate script, right across his back: “I’m awsome.” Another, rather optimistic tattoo lover had these words indelibly etched into his wrist: “Tomarrow never knows.” And a lover of the theatre, one must assume, had the famous smiling and frowning masks inked into his or her skin, with the words “comedy” and “tradgey” loving spelled out above each one.

That IS tradgic. Perhaps more tradgic is the realization that expensive, protracted and painful laser treatments are about the only way these people will ever erase these little oopsies. “To young to die, to fast to live” reads one young man’s arms. To bad he was in to much of a hurry to consult with someone about those tricky missing o’s.

Remember that “you’re/your” point I made a moment ago? I’ve found at least five examples of that particular apostrophe error implanted into the skin of various folks, all of whom have some sort of point to make about what you are or should be doing in relation to them. One young tough has these tender words tattooed across his knuckles, just to let us know a bit about the type of gentleman he is: “your”/ “next”.

Perhaps the lesson here is that some tattoo artists may have actually become tattoo artists because they are excellent at visual expression, but they aren’t all that keen on, you know, words, and writing and stuff. And that maybe the cool kids should just run their ideas through a spell-check or something, or maybe have a teacher or someone’s mother do a quick-double-check before the needle goes in.

Maybe our local woman’s lamentable experience can serve as a teaching moment for other tattoo seekers. Heaven knows, none of us would really want to be in her position – stuck with an ugly tattoo that was supposed to proclaim to the rest of the world just how “beatiful” we are.

Big Cover Story

2010-03-18T08:37:00.010-03:00

My first cover story for Halifax Magazine, about corporate conglomerates in the funeral industry in Halifax, has generated some interesting responses.

Like this one: a few days after the article came out, one of the locally-owed funeral homes in Halifax posted this ad in the obituaries section in the Chronicle Herald:

And although it's a bit ominous-looking, Atlantic News has dedicated an entire window to displaying this month's issue of Halifax Magazine:

If you haven't read the article, you can still pick up the magazine during the month of March at newsstands around Halifax.

Or you can go to my writing page, here: http://angmombo.com/writing/

Hope for Healing

2010-03-08T10:35:00.000-04:00

The final week of February was busy with events of great significance to all Nova Scotians, particularly Nova Scotians of African descent.

The news was a mix of good and bad.

I’m not sure words can begin to describe the anger, shame, and disgust I felt when I heard about the cross-burning incident outside the home of Shayne Howe and Michelle Lyon in Hants County. It made me feel ashamed to be a Nova Scotian, ashamed that anyone, anywhere in this province would be ignorant enough to resurrect that kind of deeply hateful symbolism.

But the public response to the incident has been encouraging. Many people have offered their support to the couple. For once, it appears that a Facebook group has actually had an impact, at least for Howe and Lyon. I hope that the many messages the couple have received, and the public march in Windsor, have made the point that most of us abhor the kind of cowardly act that this family was subjected to.

It was also the week that, at long last, the Halifax Regional Municipality apologized to the former residents of Africville and their descendents, and offered a compensation package to help right the wrongs committed upon the people of that community.

“It is an apology that you are owed and deserve,” said Mayor Peter Kelly. “We apologize to the community elders, including those who did not live to see this day, for the pain and loss of dignity you experienced. We apologize to the generations who followed, for the deep wounds you have inherited and the way your lives were disrupted by the disappearance of your community.”

As I watched the coverage of the mayor making that apology, and I saw the reaction of relief and forgiveness from some of the people in the audience, I felt a wave of hope that this gesture could be the bridge to a new phase in Halifax’s history. Honestly, would that not be fantastic? There’s no way to erase the past, but there are ways to move beyond it, and HRM’s apology is absolutely essential to beginning to overcome some of the psychological barriers to equality that exist in this municipality.

We know that there are no magic solutions, and clearly there are people who feel that the settlement, which doesn’t offer individual compensation, falls far short. I understand why they feel that way, given that so many opportunities for personal success were probably lost in the upheaval of their community. Mayor Kelly’s apology alluded to this loss. “The repercussions of what happened in Africville linger to this day,” he said. “They haunt us in the form of lost opportunities for young people who were never nurtured in the rich traditions, culture and heritage of Africville.”

But it is a victory, and one which, for me, felt distinctly therapeutic. As Reverend Rhonda Britton, pastor of the Cornwallis Street Baptist Church told the crowd: “There are some among us who are wounded. …But in spite of all that, victory has been won.”

This is our golden opportunity to embrace the spirit of change. My hope is that the apology, and the city’s positive actions toward remediation, can unite the people of Halifax, and of this entire province.

As for Shayne Howe and Michelle Lyon and their family, I also hope it’s been made abundantly clear that the outrageous actions of a few individuals speak for no one but the criminals themselves.

Things I Wonder

2010-02-24T13:55:00.002-04:00

There are plenty of big issues in the world right now that deserve our attention: natural disasters, government spending scandals, Olympic victories and defeats.

But here at “Dang,” we are going to focus, this week, on the little things; the things that separate us from the beasts, and, in particular, the things that make this, your devoted correspondent, repeatedly scratch her head in bewilderment and ask, “Why?”

Here, my friends, are just a few of the many things I wonder as I make my way through the world every day:

First of all, why do so many people pick their nose while driving? (Maybe I should have put a little warning ahead of that one, in case you were eating your breakfast.) Seriously, this is like an epidemic or something. If I’m driving, and I randomly turn my head to look at another driver, the chances are, like, 1 in 3 that the person I look at will be rooting around up in there, and completely oblivious to the fact that I can see them. Do people think they’re wearing a cloak of invisibility when they’re behind the wheel or something? You’re surrounded by glass, folks. You may feel all alone in your little steel cage, but I really think you should know: others can see you, and you are totally grossing them out.

Here’s another thing I don’t understand: why, even when the sidewalks have been cleared of slush and snow right down to the bare pavement, do so many runners insist on running out on the road? This morning I had to veer across the centre line at least half a dozen times to make way for these danger junkies. Can I suggest that if it’s too “tricky” to lift your knees high enough to negotiate the bumps in the sidewalk, you might want to reconsider whether running is really the sport for you?

Readers who watch TV during the local supper hour newscasts may relate to this: why do so many car/furniture/jewellery/mattress salespeople think they are clever/funny/handsome/telegenic enough to write and star in their own TV commercials? The hilarity! The schtick! The mute button, hurry! You don’t see actors walking into these vendors’ stores and trying to sell a bedroom set, do you? They should really return the professional courtesy.

Why do some automated banking machines say: “It has been our pleasure serving you,” at the end of a transaction? You can’t fool me, banking machine! I know you don’t have feelings—although you’re certainly good at making me feel a significant amount of pain whenever I check my balance.

I’ve often wondered why everyone who is convicted of some heinous crime has at least one neighbour who is willing to go on the record to say that he “seemed like a nice guy”? Frankly, these neighbours may not have known this person well enough to really be commenting on his character. Also, it may be worth pointing out that people who commit heinous crimes may not, in fact, be sporting cloven hooves and sprouting devil horns, so they may be a little harder to pick out than some people suspect.

And finally, why do so many streets named “Pleasant” rarely live up to their name? I’ll leave this one for you to ponder for the rest of the day. If nothing else, perhaps it will keep you from worrying too much about the big stuff.

Enemy of the Common?

2010-02-24T13:41:00.009-04:00

A few weeks ago I wrote about the Halifax Regional Municipality’s plan to upgrade the Halifax Common. My general take on the issue was that the widening of paved walkways and the creation of a “special events plaza” (involving more “hard surfaces”) were not necessarily bad things, especially if they made the space more accessible and enjoyable for everyone.

I knew it was a bit of a hot-button issue, and I knew it would get a response from readers – and it has. I also knew that in my pro-pavement stance I was going to appear to be on the “wrong” side of all that was righteous and good, so perhaps a little clarification on my part is in order.

First, I am not an Enemy of the Halifax Common, as some of the “Friends of the Halifax Common” seem to think. Even though I’m not upset about the use of asphalt and the creation of “hard-surfaced entrances” – which the “Friends” reference repeatedly on their website – I still recognize the importance of public green space in keeping cities vibrant and interesting.

And I am not, as Mr. Ruffman (a board member of the aforementioned FHC) suggested in his recent letter to the editor, in favour of selling off all public lands, “clothing them in subdivisions” and paving them over to create parking lots. Sheesh. I just thought it might be nice to have a space where folks could hang out and hear some local musicians, watch a dance performance, maybe even sit out and see a bit of theatre in the fresh air.

However, that doesn’t mean that I think mega-concerts on the Common are a great idea. I don’t. Perhaps I should have been clear about that. And perhaps this will come as a surprise, but I actually think that “Friend” Beverly Miller made a great point in her editorial rebuttal to my column when she argued that the “events plaza” planned for the Common appears to be a bit of a red herring, designed to distract from the real point of HRM’s enthusiasm for these improvements, which is to get the permanent electrical infrastructure in place to facilitate big shows.

Frankly, she appears to be onto something there. As her letter pointed out, by far the biggest chunk of money allotted for improvements to the North Common in 2010 will be spent to create “permanent power for concerts.”

But while Ms. Miller and I agree that the Common is not the right venue for these extravaganzas, it’s quite possible that we feel that way for different reasons. I won’t speak for her, but my objection is based on the fact that the concerts are completely disruptive to the people who live in the area, and to the people who regularly use the fields. If I still lived within a stone’s throw of the Common and had to personally deal with the noise and disruption of all that set-up and tear-down, not to mention the traffic and crowds during the actual concerts, I would be apoplectic.

But mega-concerts notwithstanding, let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater. The “Friends” want to protect what remains of the city’s common lands, and I get that. But great public spaces draw people in – locals and tourist alike – and that is not the current reality of the North Common.

My point is merely that we should be careful not to “protect” our common space to the point where it is of very little use to anyone.

Common Complaint

2010-02-04T11:10:00.000-04:00

For about ten years before I moved to the little house I live in now, I lived within a two-minute walk of the Halifax Common.

During those years, I walked across that big soggy field twice daily on my way to and from work. I’ve calculated this out for some of my male readers, who I know LOVE numbers, and are already calculating this in their heads anyway: it works out to about 4700 trips, allowing for statutory holidays, two weeks vacation a year, and a couple of sick days.

My partner got mugged there once in broad daylight when a couple of doofuses tried to take her bag, which, fortunately, she had strapped crosswise over her shoulder. They ran off, red-faced, after she more or less gave them some anatomical/recreational advice as to how they could spend the rest of their day.

I remember once fearing that I would die there, as I traipsed across the tundra in the middle of a howling blizzard. I think it was Christmas Eve or New Years Day or something ridiculous, when normal people were not expected to put their lives on the line to get to work, so I was feeling doubly sorry for myself and seriously considering just giving up and laying down to have a good cry.

Anyway, my point is that the Common and I have a pretty intimate relationship. And the other point I really want to make is this: apart from being a nice quiet place to walk, and a good spot for a dog-walk or game of softball or Frisbee, it’s pretty useless in terms of anything else.

Unless you feel like climbing a bleacher, there’s almost nowhere to sit. The fountain is rarely on, and of course it’s stuck behind that huge, ugly fence. You can’t get a hot dog or a drink of water. So, unless you’ve got a dog or a game, or there’s a massive concert in the middle of it, there’s no other reason to go there.

This week, the Halifax Regional Municipality held a public meeting to solicit feedback on a proposal to make some changes to the Common. The proposal dates back to 1994, so you can see that these upgrades have been developing at the usual breakneck speed of progress in Halifax.

The plan includes some great ideas - improved landscaping, more trees, better lighting, upgrades to the sports fields, widened pathways, more seating areas, a redesign of the fountain, new kiosks, and allowances for public art. But, perhaps most controversially, the plan also incorporates a “Special Events Plaza” at the corner of North Park and Cogswell.

That plaza (and the widened pathways) will involve some paving, and the paving appears to be what most rankles the “Friends of the Halifax Common,” whose rather poignant motto is “Helping Protect What’s Left.”

I do agree with The Friends that the preservation of public green space is extremely important. But their position on this plan, as posted on their website, is that it “…continues the erosion of public open land by …(making) way for a permanent hard-surfaced plaza for concerts, using asphalt instead of permeable materials for wider paths on the Common and creating hard surfaced entrances.”

It’s not the usability, or the greater accessibility or the potential opportunities that interest The Friends, it’s the asphalt. I would argue that even if this corner is paved, it’s still “public” and “open,” and I would suggest that if a space is “green” but very few people are using it, it’s just a waste of good public space.

Buddy and the Airport Buffer Zone

2010-01-25T12:47:00.000-04:00

Let’s say you had a buddy who was a drummer. Your buddy, when he wasn’t out playing massive stadium concerts, liked to practice his drumming, nice and loud, pretty much 24/7.

This buddy lived outside the city, where he’d never bothered anyone with his constant bashing and crashing. But the land around his drum studio was owned by developers who decided one day that it was prime property. The developers built lovely, stately homes all around Buddy’s place, and lots of blissfully unaware folks, who had been looking forward to the peace and quiet of their new country abodes, moved in, only to discover fairly quickly that Buddy was one noisy neighbour.

Complaints were lodged. Buddy was forced to reduce his drumming hours. Soon, no amount of drumming was acceptable. “These are our homes,” the neighbours insisted. “Your constant drumming is lowering our property values!” “But I was here before you came,” Buddy argued, weakly. “Didn’t anyone mention the drumming before you moved in?”

Somewhere in this analogy, I should try to work in the fact that more than 12,000 jobs and over 1.2 billion dollars are generated by businesses related to Buddy’s drumming. You can use your imagination for that part.

Perhaps you see where I’m going with this. It’s the kind of scenario the Halifax International Airport Authority is trying to prevent with its suggestion that future development in specific areas around the airport should be limited. The concern is that, if large numbers of people take up residence under the flight paths, there will most certainly be noise complaints from those residents.

But both Paul Pettipas of the Nova Scotia Homebuilders’ Association, and Halifax Regional Councillor Steve Streatch object to this idea, using a arguments so circular they make the head spin.

“We would certainly question why the airport would need a buffer when they have no complaints,” Mr. Pettipas points out in a recent article in the Chronicle Herald. He then goes on to rail about “the rights of landowners.”

Councillor Streatch’s argument is equally worthy of a good head-scratch. “The noise,” he has been quoted as saying, “has never been an issue.” So, why would allowing a lot more people to live there result in an increase in complaints?

Gentlemen, may I direct your attention to the cities of Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton, Victoria, Waterloo, Vancouver… and very likely every single metropolitan airport which is surrounded by residential development? The handling of noise complaints is, by necessity, a routine part of the management of these airports, and it impacts the way they do business.

I will even go out on a limb and suggest that some of the citizens who file noise complaints moved into those areas knowing full well that there was an airport nearby.

Can we not learn from the experience of other cities? A study done over a decade ago for the Waterloo airport said: “One of the most effective insulators against annoying sound is distance. If possible, an airport should be surrounded by a noise buffer area of vacant or forested land, and private property near the high noise impact area…should be used for activities that are less sensitive to noise.

“Proper planning … may protect the quality of life for those living or working next to an airport, as well as protect the investment and operation of the airport.”

Proactive planning or denial and wishful thinking? We can let Buddy keep drumming and driving the local economy, or we can move in and force him to take up the tambourine.

Code Census Rap, yo

2010-01-20T09:19:00.001-04:00

The emergency department at the Queen Elizabeth II Health Sciences Centre in Halifax was pretty busy back in early January. Every time they turned around they were calling Code Census to help clear the backlog of patients waiting to be admitted to a bed in the facility. That, in turn, was to make room for all the folks who were waiting to get into the ER itself.

Code Census is certainly not an ideal scenario for anyone involved, since it means sending people who need medical care out into the hallways on stretchers, in hope that some other poor patients who already have beds will get booted out of the hospital altogether, probably a little earlier than planned.

It’s all part of a system-wide bottleneck of resources for which there is no quick fix.

However, I’m going to suggest that, to a certain extent, we, the healthcare-guzzling public, the great unwashed and slightly sick-ish masses, are a fairly significant part of the emergency-backlog problem.

I’ve spent hours – probably totaling weeks – in the QEII’s emergency department, although I have to admit that I haven’t been there (silent thank you and knock on wood) since the department was revamped and the new building opened.

I know that sometimes – although certainly not all the time – some folks who aren’t experiencing a particularly urgent health issue decide that they should probably see a doctor. And some of these people think, “Hey, aren’t there a bunch of docs right in that building who could see me right away?”

If you’re one of these people, I would like to suggest that you visit your family doctor.

However, we all know that there are people in Halifax who don’t have a regular GP. In that case, I have three words, or two if we count a hyphenated word as one: walk-in clinic. There are convenient walk-in clinics all over this city. They take new patients, and anyone can just waltz in and be seen by a physician in a matter of hours – certainly fewer hours than would be spent hanging around the ER.

If you simply can’t decide how serious your problem is, not to worry. I’ve written a little “rap” to help clarify emergency healthcare for everyone. I think I’ve captured all the subtleties of the current health-care crisis here, and I will give ten dollars to the first person who records this and puts it up on YouTube. Until then, please imagine a nice backbeat, and me, in baggy clothes (per normal), busting a move while I spit this, yo:

Listen up, Halifax, if you’ve ever doubted
That the QEII Emerg is over–crowded
They’re calling Code Census like every day
And that means tons of patients stuck in the hallway.

So here’s what you should do if you’re feeling sick:
Take a moment to follow this little trick.
Ask yourself a question: am I gonna die?
Or is a big chunk of glass sticking out of my eye?
Am I bleeding profusely from an open wound?
Will my heart maybe stop if I don’t get there soon?

If the answer to these questions is maybe or no
Then a walk-in clinic’s where you ought to go.
That leaves the docs and nurses in emergency
For the people whose lives are at risk, you see.*

* Parody. Not actual medical advice.

Hoverboots Not Required

2010-01-11T14:04:00.002-04:00

What does one pack when attending a “Podcamp” in the year 2010? Shiny silver spaceboots? Freeze-dried chipped beef? A vacuum-sealed packet of Tang?

Well, all of the above, if one is so inclined. But the Podcamp I’m referring to, despite the spacey-sounding name (“Open the pod bay door, Hal”), doesn’t actually take place in zero gravity, and you don’t really need to bring anything but yourself, your curiosity, and maybe a few pithy PowerPoint slides.

Podcamp Halifax 2010, which will be held at the Alderney Gate branch of the Halifax Public Libraries on January 24th, is an all-day “unconference” – an open, participatory, user-generated series of workshops for anyone interested in social media. Bloggers, podcasters, social networkers, and any folks who are curious about new media are encouraged not only to attend, but to create a presentation on a subject of their own choosing.

It’s sure to be an interesting day, because I can say from experience that Halifax has a pretty colourful social networking community. I follow a small army of Halifax businesspeople, community organizers, journalists, marketing professionals, artists and musicians on Twitter, and many of them are planning Podcamp presentations, on subjects ranging from “So You Want to Buy a Blogger” to “Social Media – You’re Doing it Wrong!”

Ryan Deschamps is one of the Podcamp’s organizers, and he explained to me that the event is organized according to the rules of “open space,” which follows these four basic principles: whoever comes are the right people; whatever happens is the only thing that could have; whenever it starts is the right time; and when it's over, it's over.

“There's just one law, usually referred to as the Law of Two Feet,” Deschamps told me. “‘If at any time during our time together, you find yourself in any situation where you are neither learning nor contributing, use your two feet and go somewhere else where you may learn and contribute.’ It's a self-organizing system. You're responsible for your own learning.”

That seems like a radical – and may I add, refreshing – departure from any conference I’ve ever attended. Deschamps says the open style of organization creates an ideal environment for people like himself who prefer a little more engagement with their education. “I like to have conversations. I prefer not to be in a presentation where I'm told what is right. I'd rather go head-to-head with that person; I find those kinds of things more meaningful,” he says.

Deschamps, because he is also the Alderney Gate library’s E-learning manager, has been instrumental in bringing the library onboard as a partner for this volunteer initiative. “I think the library got involved so it could show that this is a place where people can build connections. Halifax has a strong, strong online community, and I think there is a need for these people to gather so they can innovate and learn through one another,” he says.

Everyone is welcome to attend – whether they’re new to social media or they’ve been networking since the days before dogs and cats had their own Facebook pages. Participants are asked to register in advance (you can find the link via podcamphalifax.ca), and although this year’s Podcamp is already fully booked, Deschamps advises anyone who is interested to add his or her name to the waitlist, because he’s hoping to find more space.

And despite the fact that there will be no weightlessness or surly artificial intelligence, I’m looking forward to meeting many of the folks from the Halifax Twitterverse in person. I may pack my hoverboots just in case.

Holiday Tips and Tricks Redux

2009-12-21T14:05:00.004-04:00

Gather ‘round, my frazzled festive friends, for my sort-of-annual word-to-the-wise guide to not-so-useful holiday tips and tricks.

As is usual at this time of year, those pithy bits of advice are everywhere – little nuggets of knowledge-y goodness that are so generously offered up, unsolicited, to all hopeless holidayers, in the interest of making life that much simpler and more quaint amid the merry madness.

What I love most about these ideas, which are intended to take the stress out of holiday preparations, is how utterly obvious most of them are, or how utterly out of left field, or how un-simple they are in the execution.

Herewith, a few strange seasonal suggestions that have passed under my gaze in the past few weeks.

First, on the subject of celebratory carousing: “Search for great wines under $10,” is the advice. The great thing about this is the word “search.” With just a few easy hours of internet digging, reading magazines, asking friends, and then making numerous experimental purchases until you finally hit on the one that you deem “great,” you can look forward to one evening of eventually sitting back and enjoying your cheap but tasty bottle of stress-free Christmas cheer. That’s made life easier, huh?

“If you’re making a personalized holiday gift basket, remember to customize it for the person who’s receiving it rather than yourself.” Seriously, this was an actual piece of advice. “This means considering what the recipient might need in terms of lifestyle as well as their hobbies and tastes,” advises our sage advisor. Apparently someone has written a whole book on this radical new concept in gift-giving.

“When your guests walk in, have them write a holiday haiku on an index card.” Excellent idea, especially for most of my guests who will have no clue what a haiku is. Here’s mine: “Welcome to my house! Sit down and shut the heck up. Write a haiku now.” Or maybe: “Good to see you, friend. Do you know what haiku is? If not, you can leave.” Or: “Don’t take those shoes off. Unless you think you can write. Haiku, no pressure.”

“Use an old baby-change table to create a wrapping nook.” Just one word: “Ew.” I can hear my nephew now. “Uh…Auntie Ang? Something seems a little off with those chocolate macaroons you stuffed in my stocking.”

“Glaze your ham in Dr. Pepper.” This bit of epicurean advice will be especially helpful if you never want to host any of your guests for dinner again. “No, I think we’re busy that night,” will be the reply to all future dinner invitations. “But we’re having roast beef glazed with Red Bull!” you’ll insist. “Gosh, is that the doorbell? Gotta run,” your guests will reply.

And finally – and this would probably not have occurred to you without seeing it in print first: “Have a glass of wine or eggnog, but don’t overdo it.” Without these words to the wise, you would almost certainly have “overdone it.” Now you’re safe. Happy holidaying.

Public Patsies in the Cable Propaganda War

2009-11-09T11:59:00.002-04:00

Are you as sick as I am of all the so-called “Save local TV / Stop the TV tax” noise that’s being drilled at us repeatedly in television and newspaper ads?

Obviously, somebody’s got a lot of money at stake, because the rhetoric that’s flying from both sides of this debate is enough to make the head spin.

Both factions have reduced their arguments to pithy little catch-phrases, but you can be sure that there’s a whole lot more going on here than what these simple slogans would suggest.

The cable companies’ campaign is called “Stop the TV Tax”, while the broadcasters’ mantra is “Local TV Matters.”

The point of contention is that cable and satellite providers like BellAliant and Eastlink don’t have to pay Canadian broadcasters to distribute the TV programming that would otherwise go out via over-the-air signals (in other words, the TV stations that you could receive with just an antenna).

The broadcasters – which include CTV, Global, and CBC – are rather broadly referring to this as “local TV,” but I would suggest that there’s very little “local” content in those signals, since virtually all local TV stations are part of a network, and the networks’ schedules are heavily weighted with American or nationally-broadcast programming. Anyway, the networks’ argument is that it’s not fair for cable companies to profit from selling their programming without returning some revenue back to them.

But the cable companies say that if they have to pay for the signals, they will be “forced” to pass that cost on to the consumers.

It seems to me there’s a lot of misdirection going on from both sides here. First, the cable companies are throwing around the word “tax” pretty loosely - arguing that if they have to pay for signals that have previously been free to them, then any cost they choose to pass on to the consumer (as opposed to taking it out of their huge profits) amounts to a “tax.” What this really means is: “If we get dinged, you will pay.”

And the broadcasters are throwing around the word “local” as if their schedules are jam-packed with locally-produced content. Come on. We’re talking about news here (and perhaps the odd special), of which local news makes up, at most, a few hours a day on all of these stations’ schedules. Local news is extremely important, I totally grant that. But given the continual glutting of resources for local news production at CTV, CBC and Global, it’s clear that local content is not high on the networks’ priority lists. You and I are being used as pawns in an argument of semantics about who should foot the bill to keep these TV stations alive. Perhaps their slogan should be: “Desperately seeking a way to keep ourselves afloat.”

Both sides are seeking the public’s input at upcoming hearings before the CRTC, which they will then use as fodder to make their cases before the regulator. Surely the problems here are much more complicated than a simple “I support local TV” or “No TV Tax” vote can address.

This is a problem of an outdated business model, and a battle over who’s going to get their hands on the big bucks generated by the TV industry in Canada, and it should be up to the broadcasters, cable providers and regulators to sort it out. Manipulating the public into being patsies on both sides of this propaganda war simply isn’t appropriate.

No Pizza Night for the UnVaccinated

2009-11-09T11:54:00.001-04:00

There appears to be no shortage of people (many of my friends and acquaintances included) who say they have no intention of getting the H1N1 flu vaccination this season.

This just makes me sigh and roll my eyes. You know, I can appreciate healthy skepticism. It’s kind of what I do for a living. But this whole business of refusing to get inoculated is just ill-informed, and based on some vague notion that “The Government” isn’t telling people everything they need to know.

That is, without question, “The Government” ’s fault, because, as a general rule, they don’t tell us everything we need to know.

Unfortunately, that long history of less-than-honesty means that a lot of people who could easily avoid getting sick are going to get sick. And if that just involved those other people, I’d be fine with it.

But I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about the people who can’t afford to be infected by the people who don’t think they need to protect themselves from the virus. People like – I’ll say it – me. Not everyone has cushy jobs with sick pay, you know.

So listen: I am putting this out there. There will be no dinner invitations to my house for friends who refuse to get immunized. It’s as simple as that. I’ll see you next spring, and you can let me know how your whole “influenza libertarian” strategy worked out for you.

In the meantime, I’ll try to explode a few myths for you:

1. “I think the “pandemic” is overblown and it’s not going to affect me.” The reality is that, unlike all the other flu viruses you’ve been in constant contact with over the years, this is a flu strain that most people under 65 have never been exposed to, so people in this age group have no innate immunity. The Public Health Agency of Canada predicts that without interventions like vaccines and antivirals, close to 25 to 35 per cent of the population could become ill.

2. “Even if I do get sick, I’m young and healthy, so no big deal.” A study released a few weeks ago by the Journal of the American Medical Association reported that, among those Canadian patients who ended up hospitalized with H1N1 (and these were predominantly young patients with few major health issues), critical illness occurred rapidly, with 81 percent of those studied going into shock and multi-organ failure. Those patients received mechanical ventilation for a median duration of 12 days.

3. “Because the vaccine is new, I don’t believe it’s safe.” The requirements for vaccines approved for sale in Canada are strict and every vaccine lot is safety-tested by Health Canada. We’re not living in Bora Bora, here. If it’s the adjuvant you’re worried about, the PHAC website points out that the use of an adjuvanted vaccine is not new. The adjuvant used in the H1N1 flu vaccine has been widely used in Europe in other vaccines for over 12 years. The dangers posed by this preventable influenza are much greater than the risk of a serious reaction to the vaccine – which is about one for every million shots administered.

So if you’re not worried about yourself, try to think about all the other people you might infect when you do get sick, and imagine the social impact that illness in one third of the population would have.
If you’re not part of the solution here, you’re part of the problem.

And there will be no pizza night at my house for you.

No No Rodeo

2009-10-22T11:18:00.002-03:00

I’m not exactly a “radical” when it comes to issues of animal rights (I still eat them, after all), but I firmly believe that animals deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect that we human animals owe one another.

That’s why I was surprised and a little dismayed when I saw that this year’s Maritime Fall Fair was going to include an “Extreme Rodeo Competition,” featuring bronc and bull riding, events where success is measured largely by a rider’s ability not to get kicked off a bucking beast. From where I sit, that looks like nothing more than a cruel display of empty macho mastery over unwilling animals who appear to be struggling or, at the very least, extremely unhappy.

But what do I know? I’ve only ridden a horse maybe twice in my life, and the only bull I’m familiar with is the type that issues regularly from the mouths of government PR hacks.

In search of someone who knows more about horses than I do, I looked up Dan Isner, owner of Isner Stables in Harrietsfield. His family has operated a working farm for over sixty years, and he put it to me this way: “You've almost got to grow up with animals to know (whether or not it’s cruel). It's hard to explain to outsiders. These animals don't work any more than five or ten minutes a year, and they are well taken care of. There are a lot worse places they could end up – like being shipped off for meat. They get a longer life this way.”

Perhaps that’s true, but it still feels to me like the whole ethos of rodeo is off-kilter. It may be that the way people feel about the issue reflects the urban/rural divide – a culture clash of sorts. But I also think there has to be more to it than that.

A few weeks ago, Scott Millar, chair of the Nova Scotia SPCA’s Advocacy Committee, wrote an impassioned letter to the Chronicle Herald, making the case that rodeos are dangerous and cruel, and citing the fact that three horses and a steer were killed at this year’s Calgary Stampede. Those horses had all been involved in chuckwagon racing, which, it’s worth noting, was not an event at the Maritime Fall Fair. But two of those horses died of heart attacks following the races, and one suffered a broken leg and was euthanized on the track in front of thousands of spectators. The steer was euthanized after it suffered a spinal injury while being wrestled to the ground.

“Perhaps the worst aspect of rodeos,” Millar wrote, “is that they are billed as family events. Children, most of whom have a natural affection for animals, learn at the rodeo that this is an acceptable way to treat them. I, for one, would prefer that my children learn respect and kindness for all living beings.”

I have to agree with that, and I don’t even have children. Besides, in what other spectator sport would it be considered acceptable to have the athletes die as a direct result of the competition? If football players were routinely dropping dead after a particularly spirited game, would we accept that as just an unfortunate consequence of the sport?

My gut says that this exercise in dominance isn’t sporting at all, because ultimately, displaying superiority over animals isn’t the way we should be gauging our success as a species, anyway.

No Hockey Heroes

2009-10-05T10:09:00.005-03:00

This is going to tick a lot of people off, but I’m going to say it anyway: I’m sick of hearing Sidney Crosby referred to as a “hero.”

The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was the sight of a banner that was recently raised at the Halifax Stanfield International Airport, congratulating Sidney Crosby for his part in winning the Stanley Cup. The banner reads: “Congratulations, Sidney! Our Hometown Hero.”

Listen, I get that the guy is an extremely talented athlete. I get that he has worked really hard and achieved his dream, something not a lot of people ever have the skills or opportunity to do. I get that he’s a classy guy, very generous and giving of his time, especially with kids. He really seems to be an authentic and inspiring role model. And I admire and respect him for all those things.

But in my mind, a hero is someone who sacrifices him- or herself for others. Who puts his or her life on the line. Who performs selfless acts for the greater good. And as important as hockey is to many people, it’s not life and death, folks. So unless Sidney Crosby has rushed headlong into a burning building lately and stick-handled some sleepy smoker to safety, his many laudable achievements just don’t add up to “heroism,” in my eyes.

And I would suggest that this is a rule which could be applied to all so-called sports “heroes.”

I can almost feel the indignation directed toward me as I write this, knowing full well that sport in general, and hockey in particular, are sacred subjects to many Haligonians.

But don’t leap to conclusions. I’m not suggesting that being involved in sport doesn’t offer a great deal of social good. At risk of stating the obvious, sport is clearly a good way to learn leadership, confidence, and teamwork. Crosby’s a great example of that. Certainly, the lessons learned through sport have spurred many people on to become productive and involved citizens. My own grandfather was a multi-talented athlete – a baseball player, hockey player, boxer – and a marathoner who ran with Johnny Miles. My uncle was a skilled boxer, who won the Silver Gloves in 1948. Both great men, charitable, engaged and active citizens. Their many sporting achievements are admirable, for sure. But heroic? No.

My gut feeling is that when people start throwing the word “hero” around in reference to someone who’s particularly good at smacking a lump of cold rubber around with a stick, or someone who can run really fast or punch really hard, or who can hit a baseball really far, it just diminishes its impact when we apply it to the people who truly deserve it.

We can all be proud of “Sid the Kid” and his spectacular achievements, and I’m as pleased as anyone else that he’s a local boy who has made good in the big, bad world of professional sport.

But I’ll say it again – he’s not my hero.

The Dirtiest Dirt

2009-09-21T07:55:00.005-03:00

I’ll tell you a little-known fact about myself: when I was a toddler, I used to eat dirt.

You know how most children like to make mud pies?

Well, I guess I took that concept to the next level.

On a fairly regular basis, I would sit at the end of our driveway, or wherever my mother had plunked me down, and just chow down – or so I’m told. No harm every came to me because of my filthy habit, although my mother was concerned enough to have me examined by a doctor, who more or less shrugged it off, speculating that perhaps I was “missing something” in my diet.

Apparently, there’s a medical term for this particular propensity, but back then I think the word most commonly applied to my behaviour was simply, “weird.”

I tell you all this disturbing and deeply personal information to make the point that, even today, in my mind there’s “dirt” and then there’s “dirt.” And a nice, sandy beach has usually represented, for me, the good kind of dirt. You know – relatively harmless and probably delicious. If, uh, I still did that sort of thing.

But the Halifax Regional Municipality’s harbour beaches are obviously a different story, and that’s what I really wanted to talk about – because throughout the summer, I’ve seen a number of people beachcombing in the sand at Black Rock Beach in Point Pleasant Park.

I’m going to assume that these people are tourists, and therefore ignorant of the sorry state of our fetid harbour. Maybe their sense of smell has somehow become disabled, and they’re just not able to pick up on the signals that this may not be the ideal beach for picking up a periwinkle to bring back for the grandchildren.

When I see these folks walking, sometimes barefoot, on the soiled sand, and leaning over to pick up something with – argh! – their bare hands, I’m always tempted to scream “No!!” and run dramatically over to them, knocking whatever bacteria-laden object they’ve just discovered from their now-contaminated hands.

I don’t, of course. But recent research suggests that maybe I should. A study published last month by the United States Geological Survey showed that concentrations of E. coli bacteria are often much higher in beach sand than in the nearby water. It also showed that if 1,000 people played with beach sand for just one minute and then ingested what was on their fingertips, 11 would develop gastrointestinal illness.

And that’s just on a normal beach. Surely any shoreline that touches the waters of Halifax Harbour is considerably worse. The problem is, there’s no signage warning folks not to pick up objects or let their kids play in the sand at Black Rock Beach. The only indication that there’s any issue at all is a single small sign suggesting that the water “may” have bacterial contamination.

That hardly seems fair to unsuspecting visitors. A warning regarding the risk of contact with that sand might go a long way toward preventing a few days in the sick bay for the many cruise-ship passengers who think they’re just enjoying an innocent stroll on the beach.

I know my dirt, after all, and Halifax beach sand is some really dirty dirt.

One Dog, Twelve Years, One Grand Total

2009-08-18T12:14:00.005-03:00

Dog owners: I know there are millions of you out there.

But did you really know what you were getting into – financially – when you fell for those big puppy-dog eyes?

Have you ever added up what your dog has actually cost you in the course of his or her carefree, Frisbee-loving life? Well, I have.

The final number might shock you. But can you really put a price on love?

VET BILL is an animated history of my big, dumb Labrador Retriever – and the proof that she's loved: the grand total of all the money I've spent on her in the 12 years she’s been on this earth - so far.

You can watch Vet Bill on the website of the National Screen Institute Film Festival:

http://www.nsi-canada.ca/vet_bill.aspx

And, hear an audio interview with me:

http://www.nsi-canada.ca/audio_interview_with_angela_mombourquette.aspx

The grammar cop in me

2009-07-27T12:16:00.002-03:00

Perhaps I, of all people, really have no right to position myself as any kind of “grammar cop,” especially given that my writing style could best be described as “chatty casual” or perhaps, “purposely plebian.”

Still, a few irritating words keep cropping up repeatedly on the local TV news, and they are really starting to get under my skin. (The words, not the news people. See how imperfect my command of English is, already?)

First of all, I’ve been following, with a certain amount of sadness and more than a bit of outrage, the inquiry into the death of Howard Hyde, the mentally ill man who died while in police custody after being repeatedly jolted with a Taser.

I’m not insensitive to the gravity of that case. But allow me to be superficial and point out that there’s something annoying about the coverage. Night after night, I keep hearing reporters refer to the fact that Mr. Hyde was repeatedly ‘tased.’

Here’s the thing. The noun “Taser” began as an acronym. According to the company’s website, the product’s inventor was supposedly a fan of a book called “Tom Swift and his Electric Rifle” and therefore, rather ridiculously in my opinion, chose to create the acronym “TASER” to name his invention. First of all, shouldn’t the name have become “TSAHER” if that story is even remotely true?

But besides that, my feeling is that it makes no sense to “verbify” the word, as if to say that a Taser is a “doer of tasing.” Unfortunately, that doofus who interrupted John Kerry’s speech a couple of years ago screamed “Don’t tase me, bro!” in such a hilariously melodramatic way that we were all forced to watch it repeatedly on YouTube. So really, I blame him for the ubiquitousness of the verb “tase” now.

Regrettably, there’s no clear right or wrong here. Canadian Press style appears to come down on the side of “Tasered.” But my online go-to grammar guru, Grammar Girl, actually comes down on the side of “tase.” We both think the parallel argument is the use of the word “laser,” (since it was originally an acronym as well) but both she and the Oxford English dictionary suggest it’s OK to use the verb “lase,” and I would argue that I would never go out and get my eyes “lased.”

I guess my other beef about the “Taser” thing is that there’s just no consistency. The same reporter will say “tased” and “Tasered” in the same report, seconds apart. Shouldn’t a reporter be obliged to at least pick one?

Ok, moving on...

I’ve also noticed an awful lot of TV news stories lately on the topic of “infastructure” (sic). I guess that’s like “infrastructure,” but maybe it’s for babies. Those little infants obviously do need their own roads, schools and prisons. Definitely, prisons. I mean, some of those babies are just so bad.

And my other little grammatical gripe is not for reporters, but for people who like to post comments about the news online. If you, dear poster, are suggesting that something just wasn’t done right, the phrase is “could have” or “would have” or “should have,” which can be shortened to “should’ve,” etc. Not “should of.” Not “could of.” Not “would of.”

It’s worth paying attention to, because if our infastructure included real grammar police, you might of got tased for that, bro.

Floatable Flushables

2009-06-29T11:01:00.000-03:00

One day when I was about 11 years old, my mother and sister cornered me in my bedroom, handed me a little booklet, and said, “Read this.”

“If you have any questions,” said my mother, tossing her head back as she glided out of the room, “ask your sister.”

The booklet was entitled “You’re a Young Lady Now,” and in a few short minutes of reading I was transported from the innocence of youth to abject fear of what, it appeared, would be a rather troublesome and technically challenging womanhood.

Oh, I had questions. This was, of course, the ‘70s, and at that time, the products that were available for girls entering womanhood mostly involved a complicated system of straps, belts, hinges, hoists, and winches, all of which hinted at the possibility that hydraulic lifts and a healthy supply of duct tape might be involved in daintily maintaining one’s dignity.

The reason I bring up my personal trauma is this: one of the first things I learned, before I even really needed to know it, was that most of this stuff was not meant to be disposed of down the toilet. It was to be delicately wrapped, and gently placed into the nearest trash receptacle, in a most demure and ladylike way.

Clearly, this is a message that bears repeating. Especially here. And especially now. I mean, now that Haligonians know that the screens are off and the solids that are going down the drains are ending up directly in the harbour again – can we really complain about some of these “floatables,” when we’re the ones doing the flushing?

I really think it’s up to us to think a little harder about what’s appropriate, and what’s inappropriate to flush – whether our sewage is being “screened” or not.

But the products I’m trying to discreetly refer to – OK, sanitary napkins and tampon applicators – may just be the tip of the iceberg when it comes to inappropriate flushing habits, and not just in our little ‘burg.

A UK website devoted to raising awareness about “Sewage Related Debris” claims that “over half the population admitted to flushing items down the toilet instead of putting them in the bin last year.”

Whether the stats would be comparable over here, I can’t say, but I think it’s fair to use this British survey as an example. And the site does offer some interesting insight into people’s reasons for tossing their trash in the toilet. It says, “17% of people are embarrassed about putting things like sanitary products and condoms in a bin, hygiene was an issue for 47% of people, 22% are concerned about the smell of 'messy' items such as (diapers).” But interestingly, most said they don’t feel guilty about their flushing habits and just see it as a convenient way to dispose of difficult items.

Convenience now, floatables later. Some of those frequently-inappropriately-flushed items included: sanitary products (including backing strips), cigarette butts, cotton balls, facial cleansing wipes, band-aids, medicines, toilet paper tubes, and string.

Less frequent, but more bizarre, items included bandages, polystyrene, plastic cups, incontinence pads, fast food containers, razor blades, colostomy bags, cloth, rope, metal, foam/sponge, glass, and pieces of wood.

I would submit that all of those things are also inappropriate to flush into our delightful harbour, although part of me thinks that if people are flushing glass, wood, and rope and getting away with it, that’s kind of impressive. But the other part of me still wants to smack people like that upside the head.

But, no, I wouldn’t - because that that would obviously be terribly unladylike.

I Wrote a Fridge Magnet!

2009-06-19T11:03:00.000-03:00

I wrote this slogan and sold it to an American company (Ephemera) that sells kitschy and sarcastic buttons, mugs and magnets.

Perhaps I should mention that I collect fridge magnets, so this is uber-exciting for me.

Also, that sarcasm, is uh, a strength of mine.

Good fit, that's all I'm saying.

Crotch-Rock Curmudgeon

2009-06-19T11:00:00.000-03:00

A good friend of mine has taken to calling me a curmudgeon. I suppose I should be offended, but part of me takes some perverse pride in the label.

I looked it up. A curmudgeon is a “bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.” Synonyms include “grouch”, “crank” and “sourpuss.” And I have to admit, every time some massive new “music event” is announced for this summer in the Maritimes, all those labels apply to me.

“Virgin Festival?” Bah. “Halifax Rocks?” Puh-lease. “Bon Jovi?” You’ve got to be kidding me. As I’m sure you know, some of the “big names” coming to Moncton and Halifax this summer include AC/DC, KISS, The Tragically Hip, and, of course, Sir Paul McCartney.

I guess my main complaint is that curmudgeons of my ilk are SO not into tired crotch rock. Also, we are not fans of kitschy makeup or boys with big hair. The “hair rule” alone means that we are not likely to be fans of any of the members of Kiss (wigs count), most of the boys in Bon Jovi, or that one dude in the Tragically Hip who still has his hair.

Also, curmudgeons like me are not big on dredging up the past. Can you say “so yesterday?” Age-wise, I guess I am the demographic that most of these shows are meant to appeal to (class of ’81, go Greyhounds), but I wasn’t even into these bands back when they were real bands, and not just novelty acts. It’s like a bad dream that KISS and AC/DC keep popping up as the world draws deeper into the new millennium. When will I be free of screaming boys who elevate tongue-wagging and cheesy guitar distortion to a high art? It’s truly grade ten all over again.

Okay, sure this McCartney fellow falls into a different category, and apparently he was once in some band that made girls scream a lot and occasionally faint (way before my time), but the curmudgeon in me feels the need to remind you that, since, oh, 1970 or so, he hasn’t really written a decent piece of music. Remember “Silly Love Songs?” I totally rest my case.

And it’s not just an aversion to re-living my ill-spent youth that will keep me away from all these shows. Simply on principle, we curmudgeons are not fans of large crowds. We are, after all, probably all control freaks, and big groups are notoriously hard to control. We like to have easy access to food and drink. And we are very fussy about our toilets. Curmudgeons do not like porta-potties. Lining up for hours only to suffer the filthy indignities left by the thousands who have gone before us qualifies for the list of “things curmudgeons enjoy less than a hot poker in the eye.”

And although we are not particularly athletic, curmudgeons still find it kind of painful to witness the mess that concerts on the Halifax Common leave behind. Must the fans’ love of the Beatles override their love of the baseball?

We’re picky, we curmudgeons. By definition, hard to please. Still, I think we could be placated if the promoters in this region would simply book some shows that had a bit of appeal to a more eclectic audience than just perpetual adolescents. Maybe they could even bring in some “new” music – you know, bands that have formed within the last decade – so the rest of us could enjoy a bit of music without having to be quite so crotchety all the time.

Twitter: My Office Water Cooler

2009-05-28T14:37:00.000-03:00

For the past three nights in a row, I’ve been having Twitter dreams.

Seriously, in my sleep, I have been reading and sending “tweets” all night long. And the weird thing is, I have been waking up feeling really contented and happy.

In general, I’ve noticed that there’s something about Twitter that has me weirdly excited, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on it until now.

But I think it’s this: Twitter has become my personal “office culture.”

The thing is, I work alone, in a home office, and my only interactions all day long are with an ancient and gassy Labrador Retriever, and an equally old Maine Coon cat who occasionally wakes up just long enough to hork up a hairball and then fall contentedly back to sleep on the dog’s bed.

Sure, they’re a lot of fun, but I’m not ashamed to tell you: it gets pretty lonely here at times.

But now, thanks to Twitter, I’m feeling a lot less alone. All day long, I can eavesdrop on, and even take part in, conversations on just about any subject I’m interested in. And interestingly, the conversations don’t all have that trite “I’m doing my laundry” quality that Facebook status updates often have. In fact, there’s an unofficial culture among Twitterers that suggests tweets should be informative and heartfelt.

So instead of heading down to the cafeteria to chat with my co-workers about a cool video they saw on YouTube yesterday, I can hit the link that Rainn Wilson (who plays Dwight Schrute on “The Office”) sent me, and watch a clip of the most awesome trick-cyclist he’s ever seen.

And as you may have guessed, my new office friends are really interesting people – probably way more interesting than any actual people I might ever get to work with. Around the Twitter “water cooler”, I get direct access to what seems like privileged information right from the fingertips of celebrities. Ellen Degeneres tweets pictures of herself from backstage just before she goes out to do her show. Oprah tweets about how she’s enjoying her Sunday off. Martha Stewart tweets where she’s going to dinner and who she’s dining with (the other day she posted, “Dinner at the Resnick's was unbelievable - great guests: Arianna Huffington, Dustin Hoffman, Joel Silver and many others.”) First of all, who would have thought I’d be so interested in who Martha Stewart was having dinner with, and second of all, who were the fortunate “many others”?

But I am interested, and I’m totally excited when Martha tweets that she’s bored because she’s on hold with Jay Leno’s producer, or that Ryan Seacrest’s green room is actually gray. It’s just like the harmless office gossip about “So-and-So’s” new corner office… except that it’s famous people gossiping, and there’s no risk of getting caught spreading this gossip around. In fact, the spreading of these rumours, in the form of an “RT” or “Re-Tweet” is fully encouraged.

My office “clique” also includes people who work in the same profession that I do (freelance writing), people who live in the same city as I do (Halifax), and people who, oh yes – lead the country responsible for the world’s current economic woes. Yes, US President Barack Obama is on Twitter, and not only am I (and almost a million others) following him, but Barack Obama is also following ME. So who knows? Maybe he has checked out the tweets that link to my blog. Unlikely, I know; I guess he’s pretty busy and everything. Still, I have a direct connection to the President of the United States. Tell me you don’t think that’s totally cool.

And now that I have this little community of “co-workers”, I worry about them if I don’t hear from them in a while. Last week, for example, author Augusten Burroughs told us his boyfriend, Dennis, was angry at him for a late-night tweet to a doctor to get help when Dennis was sick. Then, four days passed with, well … not a tweet from Augusten. I sent him a personal note, lamenting his absence. Turns out he’d caught Dennis’ cold. I had been concerned – had the argument gotten out of hand? Was Dennis ticked off about how often (and how intimately) Augusten was tweeting? I felt a bit responsible, like you might with a cubicle-mate you’d goaded into standing up to her boyfriend’s obsessive calling. It’s not that you’re really friends, it’s just that you’ve listened to every personal encounter, and you kind of want to help. I wanted to be sure Augusten’s tweeting hadn’t gotten him into trouble. But no, he was more or less just on “sick leave” from the office.

Perhaps you’re wondering, with all this twittering, how am I actually getting any work done anymore? And you’d be right, it is a bit of a concern, especially now that there’s the TweetDeck – one big streaming screen full of tweets and Facebook status updates, in addition to columns listing any postings with the words “Halifax” or “Freelance Writing” in them. But I equate dealing with this challenge to working in an open-concept office. Sometimes you just have to tune out the conversations around you, and sometimes you need a break from work, so you join in.

Water cooler or no water cooler, at least I finally have someone besides the pets to talk to at work.

Twitter is the New Radio

2009-05-18T12:13:00.000-03:00

It was about 4 o’clock on the last day of April. I had just spent two hours in virtual isolation with my hairdresser, chatting about vet bills and dating (her, not me) and, you know, hair. I came out feeling very good and looking very blonde, got into my car and cranked up the music, and drove off toward home.

When I got to the corner of Young and Agricola, I noticed a huge, dense cloud that appeared to be hanging over Quinpool Road. When I got to Young and Robie, I could see that this was clearly smoke from some kind of fire.

From where I was, it looked like something might have exploded. I thought back to my high school years in Saint John NB, when an Irving Station had blown up and actually moved the Reversing Falls Bridge several inches to one side. My inner pessimist was speculating wildly about what might have caused this massive smoke cloud.

I had no idea what was going on, or where, but clearly it was something big. I turned on the radio. Nothing. Halifax appeared to have exploded but CBC was running an item about the closing of a downtown candy store. All of the other stations programmed into my car radio were playing music.

But I knew where I could find out right away what had happened: Twitter.

Oh, I know there are plenty of you out there who just don’t “get” Twitter (including many of my “Facebook friends”). But let me put it to you this way: something happens - someone “tweets” information about what has happened. That’s how long it takes. Back in university, we used to talk about how radio was the medium with the advantage of immediacy. Those days are long gone.

So I came home and searched Twitter for “Halifax” and “Halifax fire” and I found out pretty quickly that the fire was in Spryfield. (Also, my sister-in-law had emailed me minutes earlier from her workplace on Herring Cove Road, saying, “As I look out my office window I can see the forest fire smoke billowing into the air!”)

Then I phoned my sister (who has a bird’s-eye view of most of the city from her apartment window) and she could identify right away that the fire was near York Redoubt. She even took pictures from her window and sent them to me so I could tweet them.

I guess my point is that, by the time most of the “conventional” media had figured out that something important was happening and had started getting the word out, I already had my answers.

So, while I’m not suggesting that everyone has to run out and embrace Twitter, I would suggest that it shouldn’t be dismissed it out of hand. And just as with any information medium, it’s important to separate the wheat from the chaff when it comes to reliable sources and accuracy. But the preconceived notion that Twitter is vacuous just because the posts are short is simply wrong. In fact, many posts link to websites that are brimming with good information.

Ultimately, regardless of how I got the information, it was distressing news, to say the least. It was frightening to watch the progress of the fire, and heartbreaking to hear the stories of those who lost their homes and belongings. My heart goes out to all of those folks, and my gratitude to all of the firefighters and volunteers.

Pulling the Plastic Bags Over Our Eyes

2009-05-18T12:10:00.000-03:00

Let me be perfectly clear about this: diverting as many plastic bags as possible from our landfills is the right thing to do for the planet.

And as you certainly know by now, Atlantic Superstore grocery stores (owned by Loblaw Companies Ltd. of Ontario) have recently begun charging customers 5 cents (plus tax) for every plastic shopping bag they take from the store. The charge is part of a corporate initiative on the part of Loblaw to supposedly divert 1 billion shopping bags from landfills by the end of 2009.

But while I agree with the “stated” goal, I’m skeptical of the essential premise that shoppers taking home fewer plastic grocery bags will equal fewer plastic bags in the landfills. And I’m even more skeptical that charging for grocery bags has anything to do with environmental protection, given that the company has conveniently eliminated an operating cost and simultaneously created a brand-new income source in one fell swoop.

A Loblaw press release says that “partial proceeds” from the charge on plastic bags will go to conservation organization WWF-Canada. It goes on to say, “The remainder of the proceeds from the charge on plastic bags will be used to cover the cost of the Loblaw plastic shopping bag reduction program and invested back in the business in price and customer service.”

That glaring insult aside, the initiative appears to assume that because a grocery bag goes out the door of a retailer, it necessarily ends up in one of our landfills because customers are simply throwing them in the garbage. Plastic grocery bags are recyclable, aren’t they? I asked Inge van den Berg, VP of Public Affairs and Investor Relations for the Loblaw Company about this assumption. “There are unfortunately many that end up in landfills, with people not having the opportunity to recycle them. Therefore it is the goal to reduce the amount of plastic bags within circulation,” she told me, repeatedly. But does she have any figures which suggest what proportion of bags end up in landfills, or why? “I don't have any of that research handy,” she said.

So I called Jim Bauld, Manager of Solid Waste Resources for HRM and asked him what proportion of grocery bags is ending up in the landfill. “It's really tough to determine,” he admitted. “I know that annually through our curbside recycling program, newspapers, magazines, telephone books, and envelopes can all go in any plastic grocery bag, and we recycle about 400 tonnes a year of plastic bags through that program.” Bauld explained that all other plastic bags should be put into one bag, which should be tied and placed in your blue bag. Loose bags can gum up the sorting machinery, and dirty bags can’t be recovered.

So the big question in my mind is, “Why are plastic grocery bags ending up in landfills at all?” Since the Loblaw Company is unable to explain this, my theory is that a large proportion are simply bags that have been used for kitchen garbage – in which case they’ll only be replaced by other plastic bags manufactured specifically for garbage – with a potentially larger environmental impact.

I would suggest that the best way to keep plastic bags stay out of the landfills is to ensure that they get recycled, and I would also suggest that if the Loblaw company truly cared about the environment, they would have put more effort into communicating that fact to their customers in the first place. We may end up with fewer grocery bags with one of their logos on it in the landfill, but I doubt we’ll end up with fewer plastic bags overall.

Finding Humour in the Harbour

2009-04-28T11:12:00.001-03:00

I’m trying hard to find some humour in, or at least an upside to, the ongoing failure of the Halifax “Harbour Solutions” project.

It’s not easy, especially after you separate out all the obvious toilet humour.

“Separate out.” I kill me.

Anyway, there must be somebody who’s happy that the majority of Halifax’s solid waste is once again flowing directly into the bowl of our primary tourist attraction.

Gulls, for example. The seagulls of HRM must be ecstatic that they can once again simply plop themselves in the middle of a nice warm outflow and dine like royalty. There must have been slim pickin’s out there for a while, but now – situation normal, all fouled up. Literally.

Maybe there are some business opportunities to be found in our city’s failure to keep the system working properly. We could publish a guide for other waterside municipalities: “How Not to Build and Operate a Municipal Waste Treatment Facility.” We don’t even have to figure out what caused the failure, we just have to show them how our system was designed and put a big red circle with a line through it on the instructions. Very educational, and a service to others.

People who clean the hulls of boats for a living must be quite pleased. No doubt there will be lots of extra business being funneled their way now, if there are any boat owners who can actually bear the thought of once again floating their massive investment through the murky headwaters of Halifax harbour. (I know “headwaters” actually refer to rivers, but honestly, I just could not resist the pun. Purists, forgive me.)

And I suppose one upside is that it will be really easy to find a choice spot to lay your blanket at Black Rock Beach or the Dingle this summer. No jockeying for the best location near the shore! No municipal officials kicking sand in your face as they sprint anxiously from the chilly water. Just the sun and the sand and a bottle of bleach on standby for the laundry later.

I was also thinking that perhaps folks in the tourist trade could learn to embrace the sorry state of the water and exploit it in some way. And I may have just the thing: a sweet little story I found on Slate.com. Apparently, back in 2004, heavy rains had overloaded a sewage treatment operation near London, England, and excess sludge was allowed to flow directly into the Thames. (Hey, this sounds kinda familiar…) One rower was so shocked after rowing his shell through the disgusting brown “soup” that he went on to organize something he called the “Thames Turd Race,” where rowers sporting gas masks competed in towing giant inflatable feces up and down the river.

I think this is something that Halifax could definitely get behind. We could call it “The Chebucto Head Feculence Float,” or “The Halifax Regional Runoff Regatta,” – something to that effect. Our tourism catch-phrase could be “More Fun with Every Flush!” and prizes could include a year’s supply of hand sanitizer and a renewable prescription for amoxicillin.

Back me up here. Perhaps this forward-flowing approach is just what we need to get us over our embarrassment issues, so we can finally feel regular again.

What Not to Do When Google Street View is Around

2009-04-26T09:32:00.000-03:00

You can run, but you can’t hide from the Google Street View camera.

Well, actually, you probably CAN hide, if you see it coming soon enough, but that means you’ll miss your chance to be immortalized forever as a prototypical citizen of this fabulous metropolis.

Google Street View is a feature of Google Maps and Google Earth which offers street-level panoramic photographic views of city streets all over the world. The views are usually shot from a rather bizarrely-mounted multi-lensed camera which sits on the roof of a rather nondescript car. That car then drives around selected cities taking point-of view pictures of the streets - and whoever happens to be on those streets at that moment.

And it’s been out capturing the streets of Halifax lately. A friend of mine spotted it on Quinpool road the other day. That means there’s a pretty good chance that the camera spotted him, too. Fortunately, he wasn’t doing anything immoral or illegal, so he was, in fact, quite tickled that folks in Upper East Estonia might soon be seeing an image of him walking into his favourite diner for breakfast.

But of course, there are legitimate privacy concerns raised by this technology and its permission-less application. There are serious reasons that you may not want your image randomly captured and posted online. To counter those objections, officials from Google have promised that Canadian faces and licence plates will be blurred. That’s probably a good idea, because the camera has already notoriously captured awkward situations in other cities such as people entering or leaving “adult” stores, people urinating or vomiting in public and even one fellow apparently in the midst of committing a break-in.

But I bet there are plenty of more trivial moments when one might not want the ol’ Google Camera to be following them around town, either. Perhaps if you are one of the following people, you should take note. For example: if you are in the midst of an extramarital affair, and occasionally enjoy an indiscreet stroll down Spring Garden Road, arm-in-arm with your lover. Now is perhaps not the best time for this, which, I might add, is generally not the greatest idea, anyway. You think your spouse wouldn’t recognize your cheating butt just because they blur your face a little? This is one time when the cliché, “get a room” might really be a good idea.

Or maybe you’re not looking your best lately - you’ve gained a little weight over the winter, or you haven’t touched up those graying roots in a few weeks. Perhaps you’re in desperate need of a good pedicure. At any rate, you might want to get right on those personal maintenance issues, unless you plan to stay confined to the indoor malls for a few weeks. They may blur faces, but nasty toenails are forever.

Also, if you’re playing hooky from work, you may want to invest in a hat and some dark glasses. Ditto if you’re a closet smoker, chronic nose-picker, or if you haven’t told your spouse you got laid off from work and have been spending your days sadly scouring the want-ads as you wander the lonely streets until you can “clock out” at 5.

On the upside, if you do get caught, uh, with your pants down, you can request that your image be removed from the site. But until we know that the Google car is gone, I think it’s best to be a little extra discreet – and remember that your mother probably knows how to use Google, too.

The Death of the Turn Signal

2009-04-22T10:09:00.000-03:00

I am officially declaring it: the turn signal, as we know it, is dead.

I’ve been witnessing its slow decline in Halifax over the past several years, and I think it’s now safe to say that consistent use of car blinkers when turning has transitioned from palliative to terminal.

I mean, why would anyone use one anyway? It’s completely for the benefit of others. It doesn’t do you any good if you’re driving – you know you’re turning. And, really, who cares about making sure other people know why you’ve stopped dead in the middle of the road?

I see this epidemic of failure to signal when driving as emblematic of a deeper social ill. It’s hugely symbolic of our growing social isolation and our increasing lack of empathy for our fellow human beings.

Or maybe there are just more crappy drivers out there – I don’t really know. What am I, a sociologist?

My personal theory about what’s happening is that certain models of cars are now being manufactured without blinkers. Jettas, in particular, don’t seem to have them at all. But perhaps that’s just an issue of driver demographics.

Alright, so it’s time to offer solutions. Just complaining about it probably isn’t going to solve the problem, so I’ve taken to the interweb for help.

I’ve found a website called useyourblinker.com, which is simply a single page that says nothing but, “Use your blinker. It’s free. Bee-Otch.” Instructive, but not particularly helpful, I guess.

Coolpeoplecare.org (“Saving the world, 5 minutes at a time”) has lots to say about signaling. “From time to time,” the website chirps cheerfully, “we like to remind folks of the regular things they can do that make everyone happy. …It's time to add your blinker to that list. For some of you, it may be the least-used part of your vehicle. You can change that by employing its signaling features whenever you want to turn or change lanes. Make sure you don't pull the trigger too soon, and always turn it off once you turn. Feel free to send this along to a friend who you know could use a reminder.”

There, how proactive is that? You can use your turn signal as a way to make people happy and to spread peace and joy throughout the universe. Wow.

But my favourite signaling site is ehow.com, which lists a full set of instructions called “How to use your turn signal.” The complex instructions are, as follows: “(1) Locate the lever on the left side of the steering column. (2) Push down to turn left. (3) To signal a right turn, push the lever up. (4) Once you have moved the lever up or down, an arrow light will begin blinking on the dashboard. (5) The signal will automatically turn off after you have made the turn, in most cases, but if it doesn't, move the lever back to its central, neutral position.”

For real! Consider yourself informed.

And now that there’s no question about it’s proper operation, perhaps we can all resurrect the humble turn signal from its resting place on the great dashboard in the sky.
Blink on, my newly-educated friends. Blink on.

Emergency Preparation in Case of Alien Invasion

2009-04-07T15:19:00.000-03:00

Every once in a while, when I was a kid, my father used to walk the family through whatever house we were living in at the time, and talk about how we would get out in case of a fire. He showed us which windows had screens and which had none, and he’d make sure we could open the windows all the way and climb out. I think we were supposed to tie sheets together or something to get down from the second floor.

When we eventually moved into a bungalow, jumping out a window became less of a big deal, from a “distance to the ground” point of view. From a “your house appears to be burning to the ground” point of view, yes, I suppose, that would still have been a fairly big deal.

My father, you may have guessed, was in the military, and he was a Libra, so making plans for unpredictable eventualities came quite naturally to him.

And I am my father’s daughter. I don’t like being caught unprepared, and I know from experience that, sometimes, uh, stuff happens. I have my crank radio and my battery-powered lantern and my cans of beans in the basement. You know, in case there’s a snowstorm or a hurricane or (as is sadly true in most of Nova Scotia) a teensy bit of wind, and the power goes out.

But, apparently, I am woefully under-prepared. Perhaps you’ve seen the PSAs on TV: A fully geared-up firefighter enters a darkened home and nods grimly to the frightened group within. “Will you be ready to take care of your family for 72 hours in an emergency?” the voice of the Government of Canada intones. Apparently I will not, judging by the Emergency Preparedness Guide I immediately ran and printed off (at getprepared.gc.ca) after seeing that commercial.

It’s not that my preparations aren’t good, it’s that they’re not nearly enough, and they’re not for the right things. Public Safety Canada advises that in Nova Scotia, citizens are supposed to be prepared for floods, hazardous material spills, hurricanes, infectious disease outbreaks, landslides, power outages, storm surges, tsunamis and wildfires.

I think they also meant to put “alien invasions” on the list, because, apart from the usual preparations – which they suggest you keep in a wheeled suitcase in a closet by the door – they “recommend” that you pack a few extras: a change of clothing and a sleeping bag for each family member; garbage bags and toilet paper for personal sanitation; safety gloves; basic tools, such as a hammer, pliers, wrench, screwdrivers, and fasteners; a small cooking stove and fuel; and, disturbingly, duct tape “to tape up windows, doors, air vents, etc.”

Now, I don’t know how you feel about all this, but I’ve read “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy, and seriously, if the situation is that bad, I hope to get blown up or swept away or sucked into the spaceship with everybody else. I don’t want to be the last one left wandering the blackened planet with my shopping cart, looking for unspoiled tins of tuna and loaded pistols.

But, hey, just in case that nightmare scenario does come to pass, the Emergency Preparedness Guide has kindly provided me with several convenient “non-perishable food recipe ideas.” After all, who wouldn’t be craving something sweet once the immediate crisis is over? With no irony whatsoever, the guide’s Peanut Butter Balls recipe cheerfully advises, “This recipe can easily be doubled if you are feeding a crowd.”

Or fending off cannibals. I guess it’s up to you what you use them for. Just remember to make enough to last 72 hours. That’s when help from the Government of Canada will officially arrive.

Official Signs of Spring

2009-03-23T15:51:00.000-03:00

The calendar on my desk says it’s officially Spring.

Outside my window, on the other hand, it’s snowing. In a lovely, Christmassy kind of way.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But yesterday (not today’s yesterday, but the day before I wrote this, which are two entirely different “yesterdays”) - yesterday, it was 10 degrees out. And sunny. And you, I, and everyone else who ventured outdoors on that day were certain that Spring had finally, truly, Sprung.

Everywhere I looked, I saw the Official Signs of Spring.

First of all, there were the “shorts” sightings. I don’t know who you people are who keep your short pants handy all winter long, so that the moment the sky clears and the sun peeks out just a wee bit, you can whip them on and head jauntily out the door, regardless of the actual air temperature – but there are a lot of you out there.

Have your calves simply been withering, all pent-up in long pants and confined in high boots for so long? Have you been dying to air those ashen legs out, dust them off, give them that little bit of freedom they have been so desperately craving since August? Perhaps we should keep in mind that this was the first nice-ish day in, oh, four months of sub-zero temperatures and miserable weather. So yeah, relatively-speaking it was warm out. Relative to Tuktoyaktuk.

Hand-in-hand (or, I guess, foot-in-foot) with the short pants went the flip-flops. Flip-flops! In the month of March, in Canada. I applaud your optimism, and, again, the wealth of storage space which allows you to keep your flip-flops at the ready position near the front door, poised for a frisky frolic on the first day the temperature rises above freezing. “Socks are for wimps,” you assert, regardless of the several centimeters of slush that persist just a flop away from where you’re flipping. “Bare feet are cool,” scream your naked toes. Yes, you’ve got that right, my chilly friends.

But the flip-floppers were not the bravest of all on this particular day. No. On this day in March, while it was still, I remind you, Winter, I saw a runner in shorts and sneakers and …uh…nothing else. This runner was a man, but still, I was shocked to see his bare nipples all over the path where I was about to walk my dog. Seriously, bare man-chest is something you don’t necessarily want to see even on the sweatiest of days (or, perhaps, particularly on the sweatiest of days). I had to adjust my reality-meter as I shivered and zipped up my fleece hoodie.

Perhaps he was simply concerned with aerodynamics and didn’t want to create drag with a bunch of unnecessary fabric. Perhaps he had chafing issues. Perhaps he was just extremely proud of his pasty pecs. Whatever his reasons, I wasn’t able to eat lunch for several hours.

And on this, the first sunny day in months, I also witnessed: four Chihuahuas in the park (I believe they keep this model of dog indoors all winter, for the same reasons you keep your Miata in the garage: low suspension and susceptibility to internal freezing), several hot dog vendors, and, oh yes, potholes on Bell Road big enough to lose a Miata filled with Chihuahuas in. More proof that Spring had actually arrived in Halifax.

Not that I’m complaining. The potholes, I guess, are inevitable, and I’m in awe of the early-adopters. And it’s understandable that we might jump the gun a bit when we see the sun in Halifax. Heaven knows, it could be September before we see it again.

Conversion Confusion

2009-03-10T15:14:00.000-03:00

To hear my mother-in-law tell it, there’s an awful lot of confusion over at the seniors' residence about the analog-to-digital TV conversion that’s under way now in the U.S. “You should write a column about that,” Marguerite instructed me, “because nobody here seems to understand what’s going on.”

So this one’s for the seniors, and for anybody else who’s confused about the issue. Because to be honest, it is pretty confusing.

The cause of all the confusion is the fact that Canadian and American broadcasters are working toward changing the nature of the TV signals they transmit – from analog to digital. The upshot of that is that some people – particularly those who don’t have cable or sattelite and who receive their TV channels via an antenna – eventually won’t be able to get the new signals unless they buy a digital converter box.

But the first thing you need to know is that we Canadians need not panic. The changeover has already begun in the USA and will be complete there by June 12th of this year. But unless you are receiving U.S. stations over an antenna (which is unlikely unless you live close to the U.S. border), you will not be affected by those changes. And if you have cable or a sattelite service, you should see no change, even when the transition in the U.S. is complete. So, Northwood residents and anyone else who’s concerned – no worries. You won’t notice any change in your American programming at all.

Canadian broadcasters have a completely separate deadline of August 31, 2011 to make the digital transition, and in this case, there’s a greater chance that it could affect you. Again, if you have cable or receive a sattelite service, you won’t be affected by any of these changes.

But if you don’t, you’ll need to figure out whether your TV set has an analog or a digital tuner. The tuner is essentially the part of your TV that receives the signals. Figuring this out could be a bit tricky, but you can begin by checking your owner’s manual. Better yet, go to a website called dtvtransition.org. That site (even though it’s American) has a really convenient list of most TV models that have digital tuners. If your TV set is a bit older, there’s a pretty good chance that it’s analog, and it won’t be on the list.

So here is the only scenario in which you might be affected by the transition: if you’ve determined that your TV set has an analog tuner, and you’re using an antenna to receive your TV channels, you will eventually have to buy a converter box when the Canadian deadline kicks in. That’s it. You won’t need a new TV, you’ll just attach this box to your set, and off you go. Already the local electronics stores are stocking them, and they run about $80.

And if it turns out that your set has a digital tuner, and you get your TV signals over an antenna, you will continue to receive the channels you’ve always received, even after the Canadian transition.

Clear as mud? Any confusion is completely understandable, whether you live in Northwood or Goodwood, Melville or Beechville. But hopefully this will help clear things up a bit, so we can all focus on the real issue: whether there’s actually anything worth watching on television in the first place.

No God on this Bus

2009-02-26T09:42:00.000-04:00

Against my own better judgment, I can’t keep myself from wading in to this debate. I mean, who could stop themselves? It involves buses, and we all have an opinion about buses. And advertising – people feel really strongly about advertising. Oh, and, I guess, there’s one other wee factor in this discussion.

“There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

Oh, right.

It’s pretty hard to raise questions about the existence of God without creating controversy, but a group called the Freethought Association of Canada is diving headlong into these waters by implementing a nationwide transit advertising campaign that states directly: “You can be good without God.” (There’s also a second group, the Humanist Association of Canada, which is waging a similar campaign.)

According to the website atheistbus.ca, the Canadian Atheist Bus Campaign was modeled on a campaign which began in the UK, and which had its Canadian launch recently in Toronto.

The atheistbus website says the campaign was created as “a rebuttal to the multitude of religious advertisements on city buses, subways, and roadsides,” and that “there is currently a terrible lack of dialogue between people of faith, and those of non-faith. …We want to open up communication between faith communities and secular organizations. Only through these discussions will we come to know one another better.”

Proactively, the United Church of Canada has responded with a counter campaign which states, “There's probably a God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” There’s even a poll on the church’s wondercafe.ca site where folks can vote for either side of the argument. When I last checked, votes were 71% on the “no God” side.

The Freethought Association’s plan was to bring their campaign to other Canadian cities, including Halifax.

But in an interview with the Chronicle Herald last week, a Metro Transit spokeswoman said they have rejected the ads on the grounds that they are too “controversial” and could “upset a number of people.”

I get upset when I see ads for Hummers and fad diet products and the Conservative Party, but nobody appears to be prepared to pull those just to prevent offending me. Should Metro Transit and their advertising agency be the arbiters of free speech in Halifax? The atheistbus website suggests that Halifax and the Vatican are “the only two organizations in the western world still in the dark ages when it comes to allowing non-believers the right to free speech in public spaces. That’s quite an accomplishment!”

When it comes to the existence of God, we have to agree that there’s simply no single thing to agree on. A quick wiki search yields a list of worldwide religions and spiritual traditions that’s over sixteen pages long, including everything from Bábism to Restorationism to Gnosticism to Sufism to Hindu Revivialism. Clearly, everyone has a right to his or her own beliefs, and informed debate can only be good.

Besides, the campaign doesn’t appear to be mean-spirited in intent. Wouldn’t those upset by the ads be more justified if the posters suggested “There’s probably no God. Now go out there and wreck everything”?

Surely Haligonans of all faiths (and lack thereof) are sophisticated enough to acknowlege that there’s room for free, open discussion on this subject, and that we need not be protected from a controversial slogan simply because Metro Transit and their ad agency fear raising the question.

Dropped by his Doctor

2009-02-08T11:34:00.000-04:00

If you’re lucky enough to have been in good health for a while, you may want to check in with your family doctor after you hear Wayne Perrin’s tale.

Perrin admits that he’s always been a “typical guy” who doesn’t like to run to the doctor for every little thing. “If I get a cold, I go get some medication, and it goes away in a few days. If I get a sore shoulder, I take a pill and it goes away. But when it's something I know I can't handle, I go see the doctor. And I always thought that was what they were there for.”

So did I. But back in late October, the 57-year-old began to have some health problems that he knew were serious enough to warrant a trip to his family physician. He called the office of the practitioner who had been his G.P. for over a decade.

“The receptionist looked at my file and said, ‘Gee, you haven't been here in quite a while,’” he told me. “According to their records, it had been almost six years since I went to see her last. And I said, ‘Well, lucky me, I haven't been sick in almost six years!”

The receptionist gave Perrin an appointment for a Monday, a little over two weeks later.

On the Friday before that appointment, he came home to find a message on his answering machine that left him stunned. “The message said, ‘The doctor has decided that, where you haven't been in to see her in quite a while, there's no room for you in her practice anymore. So she won't be able to honor your appointment.’”

Perrin says he was completely taken aback. “I thought that was absolutely disgraceful,” he says. “I didn't understand it. I was never a bad patient. I was just there when I needed to go. They always tell you, ‘Don't be running back and forth to the doctor and the hospital over every little thing.’ Well, I don't. And look where it's gotten me.”

Where it got him was scrambling to get care for his worsening illness through a local clinic, which left him feeling just as poorly. Finally, after weeks of medications and two trips to the emergency room, Perrin was admitted to hospital for minor surgery.

I can’t give you Perrin’s doctor’s side of the story because she declined to speak with me.
And Capital Health Spokesperson Peter Graham told me that there is no official policy regarding the appropriate way to terminate a relationship between physician and patient. He said it’s up to physicians to be guided by their professional code, as provided by the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Nova Scotia

That voluntary code – the Canadian Medical Association Code of Ethics – specifies that physicians should “continue to provide services until they are no longer required or wanted; until another suitable physician has assumed responsibility for the patient; or until the patient has been given reasonable notice that you intend to terminate the relationship.”

Perrin feels that those guidelines were not followed in his case. “I never told her I didn't want to have her as my doctor. She never sent me notice saying we don't have any room for you and we're going to have to terminate. And I never had another doctor.”

It’s a cautionary tale, at the least. Should we be making up excuses to visit the doctor? Because really, the last thing anyone wants is to be turned away when they finally do need their doctor’s help.

HaliFacebook

2009-02-08T11:32:00.000-04:00

Facebook has its “LVRs” and its “h8ters,” and I guess you would have to count me as one of the lovers. I confess that I use it to keep up with (and, occasionally, spy on) my friends and acquaintances. I’m not above updating my status from “Ang is bummed that it’s raining” to “Ang is trying to get ahead of her deadlines” on an almost daily basis.

And, clearly, I’m not the only Haligonian who’s into it. Aside from all the individual profiles, a quick scan of the “groups” list reveals that there are over 500 Facebook groups with a Halifax connection. These groups are places where people with common interests can get together and LOL to their hearts’ content.

Perhaps not surprisingly, oddities and niche interests abound. Check out this sampling of groups you can join if you’re seeking like-minded souls in Halifax.

There are several groups devoted to the quirks and joys of living here, my favourite being “Satan's Ploy: the new Roundabout in Halifax.” There is also a place for those who fondly recall a tire that used to hang mysteriously from the highest limbs of a tree at the side of Highway 102, called “for the tire in the tree.” To quote the group’s creator, “the tire was a good tire but some idotes (sic) took it out.” Amen, brother.

There are lots of food-related groups, from “donairs of Halifax”, to “rubber-band-wearing-no more fast food eater people”, to “so what if I’m a vegan, your mom is still ugly.” The constant lack of donairs and other fast food is probably making some of these last folks cranky.

Local restaurant-loyalty groups are numerous. I personally enjoy “to me, look ho ho has it’s (sic) own food group.” The site’s creators proudly proclaim “Look Ho Ho has the BEST china (sic) food ever!!!!!” Tellingly, this group is categorized under “Religion and Spirituality.”

Again, not surprisingly, Halifax is host to many groups dedicated to honoring members’ tendencies to overindulge in alcohol. There is “ohhhh look at me I’m drunk again!!!” (198 members), “I don’t drink to socialize, I drink to get drunk” (61 members), “Former Underage Commons Drinkers” (47 members), and “FADDTM (Friends Against Drunk Dialing, Texting and Messaging)” (87 members). There’s also “Beer” (Description: “Beer is good.”), and “I love Beer!!” There are actually two different local groups called “I love beer,” the difference being the number of exclamation points they employ to express their love.

And there are random groups like “people who want animals and there (sic) parents wont (sic) let them”, “I work in an office and I steal food out of people's desks....”, the “black eyeliner appreciation club”, and, alarmingly, “sex in point pleasant park” for – you guessed it – people who like to do the nasty in an area which, I would suggest, holds a significant risk of standing, sitting, kneeling or otherwise frolicking in dog doody. Perhaps these same folks also belong to “I secretly adore the smell of the Halifax Harbour.”

I’m considering joining the “Halifax Association of Classy karaoke Singers”, and, if it weren’t already closed, I might have joined “Word Hearders (sic) and Button Monkeys .....Halifax Journalists”. Unfortunately, I think they meant “herders,” so, actually, I guess I probably wouldn’t have joined, especially since I am already a member of “I judge you when you use poor grammar.”
This is just the tip of the iceberg! Who says it’s hard to meet people you have something in common with? And if you’re not into any of these, feel free to join the other 41 members of the “Stop it with the groups. group” group.

Post-Juan-Induced Panic Disorder

2008-12-08T11:57:00.000-04:00

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.

The Day I Saved Three Lives

2008-12-08T11:55:00.001-04:00

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.

My Own Personalized Polygraph

2008-11-28T14:46:00.000-04:00

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?

No Cats Sucked Out Today

2008-11-20T09:24:00.000-04:00

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.

Beach Ettiquette?

2008-11-11T18:17:00.000-04:00

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?

So, I Bought a Bike

2008-11-11T18:16:00.000-04:00

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.

8 Things I Love About Halifax

2008-11-11T18:14:00.000-04:00

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.

The Problem With Public Transit is the Public

2008-04-30T16:52:00.000-03:00

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?

Scrubcheeking. You Heard It Here First.

2008-04-30T16:47:00.000-03:00

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.

I Have Me One Darned Cute Dog

2008-04-11T11:47:00.000-03:00

...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

I Bought Me Some Complicated Jeans

2008-04-04T17:30:00.000-03:00

Tales from the Bargain Hunter

2008-04-04T17:20:00.000-03:00

“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.

Halifax's Low Rise vs. High Rise Debate

2008-04-04T08:35:00.000-03:00

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.

I'm Watching You

2008-04-02T17:10:00.000-03:00

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?

Beige Vinyl Siding: Crime Against Humanity?

2008-04-01T16:45:00.000-03:00

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.

A World without Bags

2008-03-31T14:52:00.000-03:00

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.)

Winter Drivers

2008-03-31T14:45:00.000-03:00

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.)

Please don't share

2008-03-31T14:37:00.000-03:00

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.)

Is it Me, or Are You All Just Lousy Drivers?

2008-03-04T12:52:00.000-04:00

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?

Symbols of Love

2008-02-10T07:58:00.000-04:00

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?

Lifestyle Advice for Idiots

2007-12-15T08:28:00.000-04:00

It’s that time of year when we gather together with friends and family and hunker down in our collective warmths to share the company of those we somehow can’t manage to spend enough time with throughout the year.

It’s also the time of year when you can’t pick up a newspaper or magazine or surf the web without some “lifestyle” expert offering you the most inane, patronizing family-entertaining-slash-home decorating advice you’ve ever read.

“Hosting a Crowd at Christmas? Find Creative Solutions,” trumpets an article in the Sunday Herald. Its solution for your dining-room deficiency? Expand your tabletop by placing a big round hunk of plywood on top, then delicately disguise it with a floor-length tablecloth and a whimsical sash! Extra added bonus tip from me: Just remember to remind your guests not to lean on the edge of said “table,” unless you want Uncle Jack’s mashed potatoes in Auntie Joan’s lap. Or unless you drill some giant bore-holes through your existing table and bolt your massive plywood topper down.

That same article offers even more creative options for the inevitable shortage of seating you’ll encounter over the holidays: buy eight “inexpensive” wooden folding chairs (I went looking - only $48.98 each at foldingchairsandtables.com, or $17.50 each on eBay). Then – get this – they want you to spray-paint them, four red and four silver, for “holiday seating with flair!” Oh, you’ve got that kind of time. And this is the best part: come Thanksgiving you can simply re-paint them all amber and gold! Our creative advisors counsel: “For the cost of a few cans of paint, you can change the colour scheme throughout the year.” Of course you can! Don’t get all bogged down with, you know, paying the bills and getting the groceries and looking after the family. You’ll find the time. Go big or go home.

Then I came across another article with this little gem of advice: buy a living “balled and burlapped” Christmas tree! “Haul it home,” they said. “Decorate it, stack presents beneath it, celebrate around it and then — rather than drag it to the curb with the discarded wrapping paper — place it into a hole in the yard and enjoy it as part of the landscape for many holidays to come.”

Place it into a hole in the yard. You know, the hole that you’ll magically dig into the frozen ground under the three feet of snow in your yard in the dead of winter. That hole.

And the final bit of holiday lifestyle advice that set me off this week?

“Turn your holiday gift-wrapping into a social occasion. Collect all of your wrapping supplies this week, but then put them aside.

“A couple of days before the holiday, get together with your sister who lives out of town but who’s home for the holidays, make a couple of cups of tea, put on some music, and wrap, wrap, wrap.”

Doesn’t that sound like fun, girls? Wrap, wrap, wrap. Drink tea! Listen to music! What could be funner? Maybe we can get one of Santa’s elves to drop by.

I just can’t handle any more ill-thought advice for those of us with so little imagination that we couldn’t possibly figure what to do with ourselves over the holidays. Maybe the authors get a kick out of seeing whether anyone actually tries to take their ridiculous suggestions.

Anyway, I’m just gonna hold off a little on the chair-painting, table-topping, and tree-planting. The gifts, well, I guess they do have to be wrapped. But I have my own little holiday ritual – 3 am, in a panic, on Christmas eve. Now that’s a special occasion.