I've made this little chart to reflect the sad reality of my everyday working life.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Free hugs: better than donuts?
All I can say is: those donuts got me through some tough
times.
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 Care Unit, sleeping there every night in a chair beside her or on a pullout couch in the 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 lived for months in transitional care waiting for a nursing home bed; and when, finally, my mother died at the Infirmary, after years of battling congestive heart failure. In between, there were emergency room visits too numerous to mention, surgeries too numerous to count, and appointments, x-rays, ultrasounds and CT scans too routine to recall.
Suffice to say, I have spent a lot of time roaming the halls of the QEII Health Sciences Centre, and a lot of those hours were well outside of typical “visiting hours.”
It’s not that you get hungry when you’re there, really. But you want comfort, a change of scene, an escape from whatever oppressive reality you’re facing at that particular moment. And sometimes, a trip downstairs (or upstairs, if you’re in Emerg) for a sweet, sugary donut and a hot cup of coffee is really about the only pleasure conceivable, and frankly, available, within the realm of that reality.
But that small respite, or part of it, is soon to be available no more on hospital property. Once October comes, Tim Hortons outlets on the properties of Capital Health will remove all food items that don’t meet Capital Health’s “healthy food” guidelines. That means that donuts, croissants and cinnamon buns will be out, and low-fat muffins and bagels will be in.
It’s a symbolic gesture; I understand that. Health care providers can hardly preach healthy lifestyles and simultaneously sell unhealthy food without appearing to contradict themselves.
The thing is, at the Infirmary, the cafeteria closes nightly at 7 pm. After that, until about one in the morning, Tim’s – and a couple of pricey vending machines – is pretty much all you’ve got.
I will admit that I am an emotional eater. But if ever there was a time and place for emotional eating, a dark and largely deserted hospital corridor at midnight is pretty much a justifiable time and a logical place to engage in the practice.
Plus, let’s look at the real numbers, here. A trip to the Tim Hortons website will tell you that, in terms of baked goods, the worst offender on the Tim’s menu is a Walnut Crunch. At 360 calories and 23 grams of fat, it’s roughly equivalent to snacking on a McDonalds double cheeseburger (430 calories and 22 grams of fat).
But not every sweet treat is quite that bad. A soon-to-be-forbidden Boston 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 grams of fat. Will cream cheese be available or verboten? If it’s allowed, adding a bit of plain cream cheese to that bagel will add 144 calories and 14 grams of fat.
Banning donuts is all about optics, but, admittedly, optics do matter – especially in the context of food and health care. I just think that if administrators want remove a significant source of symbolic comfort in the hospital, maybe they should be obliged to replace it with something equally comforting. How about $1.50 massages and a “free hugs” kiosk?
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 Care Unit, sleeping there every night in a chair beside her or on a pullout couch in the 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 lived for months in transitional care waiting for a nursing home bed; and when, finally, my mother died at the Infirmary, after years of battling congestive heart failure. In between, there were emergency room visits too numerous to mention, surgeries too numerous to count, and appointments, x-rays, ultrasounds and CT scans too routine to recall.
Suffice to say, I have spent a lot of time roaming the halls of the QEII Health Sciences Centre, and a lot of those hours were well outside of typical “visiting hours.”
It’s not that you get hungry when you’re there, really. But you want comfort, a change of scene, an escape from whatever oppressive reality you’re facing at that particular moment. And sometimes, a trip downstairs (or upstairs, if you’re in Emerg) for a sweet, sugary donut and a hot cup of coffee is really about the only pleasure conceivable, and frankly, available, within the realm of that reality.
But that small respite, or part of it, is soon to be available no more on hospital property. Once October comes, Tim Hortons outlets on the properties of Capital Health will remove all food items that don’t meet Capital Health’s “healthy food” guidelines. That means that donuts, croissants and cinnamon buns will be out, and low-fat muffins and bagels will be in.
It’s a symbolic gesture; I understand that. Health care providers can hardly preach healthy lifestyles and simultaneously sell unhealthy food without appearing to contradict themselves.
The thing is, at the Infirmary, the cafeteria closes nightly at 7 pm. After that, until about one in the morning, Tim’s – and a couple of pricey vending machines – is pretty much all you’ve got.
I will admit that I am an emotional eater. But if ever there was a time and place for emotional eating, a dark and largely deserted hospital corridor at midnight is pretty much a justifiable time and a logical place to engage in the practice.
Plus, let’s look at the real numbers, here. A trip to the Tim Hortons website will tell you that, in terms of baked goods, the worst offender on the Tim’s menu is a Walnut Crunch. At 360 calories and 23 grams of fat, it’s roughly equivalent to snacking on a McDonalds double cheeseburger (430 calories and 22 grams of fat).
But not every sweet treat is quite that bad. A soon-to-be-forbidden Boston 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 grams of fat. Will cream cheese be available or verboten? If it’s allowed, adding a bit of plain cream cheese to that bagel will add 144 calories and 14 grams of fat.
Banning donuts is all about optics, but, admittedly, optics do matter – especially in the context of food and health care. I just think that if administrators want remove a significant source of symbolic comfort in the hospital, maybe they should be obliged to replace it with something equally comforting. How about $1.50 massages and a “free hugs” kiosk?
Bullies bad, your kid good
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Slow Down and Pull Over, Dammit
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.
“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.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Living Out Loud
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.”
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.”
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Just Don't
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.
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.
Monday, September 27, 2010
So Long to My Happy Halipuppy
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Back Off my Jill Barber
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Monday, June 7, 2010
(Ir)Responsible Pet Ownership
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.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Solving Halifax's Budget Problems
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.
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
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.
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.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Big Cover Story
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.
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/
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