Showing posts from May, 2013

This Is My Country

If you simply saw me sitting listening to the radio in Shelagh's car in the IGA parking lot this afternoon, sitting there with a full propane tank on the front seat and an empty one in the back, shoppers coming and going, there would be no way into the story of that moment. I suppose that's why the modality of the visual doesn't get much at all.

The previous hour had been small-stuff frustrating. It started as I waved the white flag in my battle against the University of Alberta's research approval website. I don't have the keenest online instincts and I tend to panic when counterintuitive obstacles arise, but that site is byzantine in its corridors and complexity. For a change of pace, I went to get some propane for a barbecue. Online man, pass the torch to caveman.

I stopped to get money on the way and got to the Hughes on 178 St. just in time to realize I had left the propane tank at home. Perfect. Back home, back to Hughes only to be told "your tank can&#…

The Question For Alistair MacLeod I Didn't Ask

Shelagh Rogers had just finished interviewing Alistair MacLeod. Their conversation, which (false :) ranged from his driving an N.A.D.P. milk wagon in young Edmonton, through his thoughts about a chandelier's point of view and on to his sense of the vanished in our interior and exterior landscapes, kicked off the Words In 3D Conference happening this weekend at MacEwan.

It was an enjoyable chat to listen in on. Two people who know about words written (MacLeod) and breathed (Rogers) talking about the literary sensibility, the changed perspectives that time delivers, the mystery of metaphor.

And then it was time for the punctuation mark on the evening: questions from the audience.

The questions, as Rogers graciously acknowledged, promising them a home in an upcoming CBC The Next Chapter podcast, were good. Was MacLeod a writer who teaches or a teacher who writes? What did he learn from his students? Can creative writing be taught? A question about the horses on the milk wagon. And m…

It Wasn't A News Story

My bicycle handlebar video will never make the wild and extreme Go Pro video of the week. It's not shot down the side of a volcano or beside a coral reef. And it will never rise to the level of the Russian Dashboard Masters whose fixed cameras cams routinely capture meteors and crashing planes. The scenes I am interested in recording are more mundane. The sun in the east as I roll up to 124 Street, for one.

But the more I record my rides the more I have developed an almost actuarial sense of the dangers out there. Or the dangers in there. Like the scene that presented itself in slo-motion this morning as a young girl intent on getting to her school bus on time got to her school bus on time. She is alive tonight because the car driver hit the brakes. What didn't become a news story starts at about the seven-second mark as she runs out from the left part of the frame.

That was too close. And then the morning went on.


Here is what Mayor Stephen Mandel has taught me about political leadership: arrive in your own vehicle.  Here is what I mean. 
A few years ago, when I was still working at CTV, our newsroom had a travelling slo-pitch team. The idea was we would get a side together and travel out to your community diamond, bring a news camera along, shoot some "highlights" (usually Dan Kobe making a good play) and plug your neighbourhood or agency initiative in the process. It was a lot of fun.
But that's not the item.
One evening we were playing the good people at the Mustard Seed Church on the inner-city ball field in Boyle Street. Shopping cart poverty pushed past. There was some despair sitting in a small circle in right field. I removed a couple of hypodermic needles from the base path between first and second base. We had invited the mayor to join us and, with the warmup under way, he roared into the parking lot in his late-model Mercedes Benz and jumped out. 
That's not really…


Yesterday as I was cycling to work east down 102 Ave. a motorist in the lane to my left slowed down, rolled down his passenger-side window and yelled out:

"Hey, is that a video camera on your bike?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's my Go Pro."
"Wow, that's pretty cool. So, like, you're getting video when you ride?
"I am," I said. "Not all the time, but it kinda keeps me safer."
"Right on. Ride safe, man."
"See ya!"

The rolling encounter reinforced my feeling that, yes, inside that engineering marvel is a cyborg and inside that cyborg is just another guy, in this case a guy who cares either about cyclists or video, or both. But it also made me realize again that that route to safety via video is a convoluted path. Does it really make me safer?

Not in that moment, I admit.

But studying the video afterwards does help prepare me to notice patterns and anticipate dangers. And being able to share what I find does g…

Pumped Up, Ready To Show!

There is a lot you can say about the couple, Will and Monifa Sims, shown in this video. And there is a lot the couple in this video can show us about ourselves. Things like what makes us smile and share and maybe wish we could be like more often.

I love the fact that this video is set in that most ambiguous of locations: the gas station. Because it's there that we are alternatively reminded of the freedom that waits down the road, and the price of that four-wheeled, fuel-injected liberty. There we contemplate, even as the dollars-and-cents numbers contort their way up in an abracadabra-like cardinal value march, how, simultaneously, we are drawing down both our disposable income and our stores of the non-renewable resource in that very same act of  filling up.  And, so, to witness joy and song and love in a setting that is the natural backdrop for none of those renewable resources is incongruity at its surprising best.

I love how rock star Will transforms the nozzle and hose into…

Science? Check✓

Today, Hockey Alberta's science, or its marketing instincts, finally caught up to common sense as the organization announced, come fall, bodychecking will be illegal in peewee hockey.

A comprehensive study of concussion rates conducted by the University of Calgary was highlighted and celebrated as the impetus for the policy change. So, congratulations and thank you to the academics involved. But you also get the sense this wasn't just a triumph for post-secondary research. It was also driven by the need to retain young athletes in the sport and the need to keep lawsuits away.

But whatever the real motivation, it's a good move. It's good to remove hitting in an age group characterized by wild discrepancies in skill and body size and ability to hurt a fellow hockey player.

And it's a good move because it runs counter to the cruel streak in some hockey parents. (Trust me, you don't know who you are!) They'll counter today's move by saying things like: you…


May 5

This will be first in an ongoing series of fragments, overheard comments, meditations, memories and musings about the weather. It's too big a topic for a single blog, but I hope to collect thoughts as they blow in, bundle them up, and pick through them later.

WhetherWeather stems from the intuition that the weather in this part of Alberta not only shapes the land but the people and the politics here. That there is weather inside of us as surely as outside. That there are interesting thoughts to be thought about the very fact we complain about the weather. That an endless summer day here is, in a sense, as fragile and brittle as deep, dark December.

I will also devote a future blog in its entirety to Jeff Lynne's masterpiece, Mr. Blue Sky.

But for now, it's a look back on today. This is called Just Add Blue Sky.

May 6

The first eight words spoken in our house this morning came from Shelagh: "They say it's going to be 30 today." But that's only half th…

Via Italia

If there's a better place for beautiful stories and capturing love on camera than the Edmonton International Airport, please tell me.

Here's our morning as Shelagh and I and then Shelagh and then Shelagh said goodbye to Alex, who is off to Italy for a month to finish his B.A.

I have always loved going to that airport. It's a further in, further out kind of place. The world feels different there. Songs come into your head.

Have a great time, Alex! We love you.


Who knows how many cameras are pointed at us as we walk, drive, shop, bus, bank, and do virtually every other activity in between? And who knows what the real effect will be of living in that kind of velvet panopticon?

There seems to be no end to the uses that cameras are put, especially by police and civic authorities who have figured out that both safety and the bottom line can be shored up by innovations such as red light cameras and speed on green cameras. Years ago I actually got a ticket for turning right off Jasper Ave onto 116 St without fulling stopping my car first. This is the non-blinking eye of the modern Cycops.

As an experiment, I have joined the watchers, recording my cycling commute from my bicycle handlebars, rolling as I roll. There is no way to raise money by fining the registered owners of the vehicles that commit small crimes against cycling. But I can try to raise some awareness, so the chain of these outrages is somehow broken!

Because cyclists don't have …

(Go)Pro-litical Science

On my daily bike commute I now hit record as I dig into my first pedal. My GoPro camera attaches to the handlebar and gives me a sense of security, perhaps false. Rolling while I am rolling may simply capture a fall or a crash and not prevent them. But knowing that my decisions are also being recorded has has made me a more careful rider.

And, unavoidably, having access to the data makes me a bit of a cycosocial scientist.

Today, waiting for the lights on 136 St, the bike's eye pointed south, I counted westbound vehicles and occupants per vehicle.

By the camera's count, 33 private vehicles and two city buses went by. It was not possible to see into back seats to determine if a child or children or other big-person passengers were being conveyed. And at least two of the vehicles were positioned in such a way as to make inconclusive any determination of occupants in the front seats. Having said that, of the 31 other vehicles, only four clearly had more than one occupant in the …