Ever since reading about radical abolitionist John Brown in high school, I have found him to be a fascinating figure. Clearly (more than) a bit crazy, he was also 'right'; the abominable institution of slavery would not end without a fight. His capture and execution at Harper's Ferry after raiding a federal armoury probably did more for his cause than anything else he ever attempted because it shone the spotlight of national attention on a national ill.
In high school history class, he was not much more than an anecdote, but since then, whenever I come across something about him, I usually devour it. The first novel I found about him was Cloudsplitter by Russell Banks. This was a very serious telling of Brown's story from the point of view of his son, Owen. It captured his religious fervour, his love for his family, and his embarkation down the failed path to overthrow slavery by force. It was beautiful and compelling. I liked it so much that I hiked up Brown Mountain, Owen Brown's final home, in the San Gabriel Mountains near Los Angeles to leave the book for some lucky hiker.
When a dear friend gave me Good Lord Bird by James McBride I was thrilled but a bit confused. How do you tell the story of John Brown and make it funny? McBride, however, pulls it off through his incredible narrator and central character, Onion/Henry Shackleford. McBride, who also wrote the amazing The Color of Water, shows us how a crazy man can somehow possess enough charisma that people will follow him to an assuredly bad end. It's tragic in its futility, but it's somehow funny to watch a man who is wilfully blind to what lies right in front of him
The great power of the book, however, comes from the way he subtly shows the effects of slavery and racism. Brown, who has the deepest concern for the liberation of enslaved African Americans, assumes he knows what is best and that they will come running to join him. He just has to strike the match that will set off the firestorm of their liberation. At the same time, McBride shows us (subtly again) why oppressed people do not always fight for freedom the way we (those of us who are not in their situation) might think they should or would. Among his characters are people who are willing to toss everything aside to change their circumstances, but there are others who want to survive or for their families to survive. Destroying the entire system in which you are oppressed may sound appealing, but it is fraught with unknown risk. Burning down the prison that cages you while you are still inside it is a scary proposition.
Perhaps the thing that shocked me the most about Good Lord Bird, however, was McBride's humorous look at Frederick Douglass. I have never seen anything about Douglass that didn't hold him in anything but the highest esteem. McBride pokes fun at him as something of a pompous man more prone to speeches than action (though McBride's John Brown loves him).
Between the story of Onion and Brown and the look at oppression's side effects, this was a great novel. My love affair with John Brown books continues.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Monday, December 21, 2015
The Giver: Jonas as Christ Figure (The José Post)
When you have been teaching for a long time, sometimes you get the feeling that you have seen/heard it all, especially if your curriculum has you teaching the same things for a long time. I don't mean that in an 'I'm bored and jaded' kind of way. I just mean that you get to the point where you hear a lot of the same ideas from students. It's still exciting to see students reach conclusions that you might have heard before because you see the intellectual steps they have had to climb to reach that point, but again, if you have been teaching the same content you often hear similar ideas.
Thus it went with The Giver by Lois Lowry. It's a book that was part of our curriculum for a long time but with very good reason. The book is really one of the first utopian/dystopian novels written for a young audience. This may seem insignificant today since we are virtually drowning in the genre today, but Lowry was a pioneer. She explored the concept of what a 'perfect' society is, what choices we make to create one, and what it means to be truly human. What's more (and a reason that it's one of my favourite of the genre) is that these questions don't play out in some violent struggle between factions but rather in the conflicted mind of an intelligent adolescent boy.
When they read the book on their own, many students like it but don't love it, but when we do it as a class, they tend to get really into it. Or at the very least, they love the arguments and discussions that go with it. There is nothing like hearing twelve year olds furiously debating:
Thus it went with The Giver by Lois Lowry. It's a book that was part of our curriculum for a long time but with very good reason. The book is really one of the first utopian/dystopian novels written for a young audience. This may seem insignificant today since we are virtually drowning in the genre today, but Lowry was a pioneer. She explored the concept of what a 'perfect' society is, what choices we make to create one, and what it means to be truly human. What's more (and a reason that it's one of my favourite of the genre) is that these questions don't play out in some violent struggle between factions but rather in the conflicted mind of an intelligent adolescent boy.
When they read the book on their own, many students like it but don't love it, but when we do it as a class, they tend to get really into it. Or at the very least, they love the arguments and discussions that go with it. There is nothing like hearing twelve year olds furiously debating:
- What murder is
- What it means to be human
- Whether the individual matters more than the group
- Whether sacrificing personal freedom is worth it to ensure health and safety for all
- Whether it is possible to be happy in a world without suffering
To be honest, it is profoundly moving. If you've never had the chance, you're missing out.
This past year [I've had this post on my list of things to write for a while.], however, something new happened. I was reading some student writing about the book and came to a sudden, stunned halt. José, an unusually thoughtful, insightful student, likened the main character, Jonas, to Jesus Christ. He saw in Jonas's burden of memories a similar burden to that carried by Jesus when he died for the sins of other people. I was speechless to read one of the most original thoughts about the book I had seen in years. Actually, let's be frank- it was the most original thought I had seen about the book. EVER.
José went on to explain his thinking in his usual way - beautiful phrasing and eloquent connections to his examples - but the thing that stood out was the level at which he was thinking. I'm not religious, and in general religion did not come into the class discussion about the book, so when José reached that conclusion, it was totally independently. It also reminded me that there is nothing like teaching. There is nothing like seeing ideas emerge from the churning minds of young people - people who are often dismissed as obsessed with themselves or obsessed with thing or obsessed with technology.
Give them the right opportunities and they are capable of the profound. Thanks for that reminder, Joselito.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Return to the Snow (theBside)
Today I rode the gondola up to Grouse Mountain in North Vancouver for the very first time. And what a first time it was.
Alternating between light rain and snow flurries at the bottom, by the time we got to the top it was winter wonderland time. We went as a little Christmas gift/Christmas experience for ourselves (because going up Grouse is expensive) and to try out our new snow shoes.
About half way through our hike, I had that winter feeling that I haven't had for oh so many years - that feeling you get when you have exerted yourself just enough that you're not hot, but you are just absolutely comfortable in the winter air. For those moments it's the perfect temperature and you could just flop down in the snow and lie there. You don't pine for tropical breezes or beaches because it's exactly right where you are.
It's that feeling that comes that lets you just stop and listen to the snow fall. It falls in little whispers, making little bristly noises as it melts against your jacket or settles on your eyelashes. It's warm enough, or you're warm enough, that you can stop and listen for the thud of clumps of snow falling from cedar branches twenty and thirty metres up. Or if you turn your head you hear the drip of water as the icicles send little drops down the rock face.
Yes, today was a perfect winter day.
Alternating between light rain and snow flurries at the bottom, by the time we got to the top it was winter wonderland time. We went as a little Christmas gift/Christmas experience for ourselves (because going up Grouse is expensive) and to try out our new snow shoes.
About half way through our hike, I had that winter feeling that I haven't had for oh so many years - that feeling you get when you have exerted yourself just enough that you're not hot, but you are just absolutely comfortable in the winter air. For those moments it's the perfect temperature and you could just flop down in the snow and lie there. You don't pine for tropical breezes or beaches because it's exactly right where you are.
It's that feeling that comes that lets you just stop and listen to the snow fall. It falls in little whispers, making little bristly noises as it melts against your jacket or settles on your eyelashes. It's warm enough, or you're warm enough, that you can stop and listen for the thud of clumps of snow falling from cedar branches twenty and thirty metres up. Or if you turn your head you hear the drip of water as the icicles send little drops down the rock face.
Yes, today was a perfect winter day.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Jessica Jones (the show) - A giant leap forward
I just finished binge-watching Jessica Jones, the latest Marvel show from Netflix. As soon as they announced the show, I was excited to see it. This was due in large part to the character's relatively minor role in the Marvel universe. For the last while, she has been pretty resolutely retired and focusing on being a mother (and is also married to Luke Cage). The beauty of a more minor character as the protagonist for a series like this is that you can do more with her (or him). There isn't so much lore weighing the character down that the creators would feel compelled to repeat history.
And Jessica Jones is one of the most refreshing female characters on television. She is almost resolutely crabby, smiling perhaps twice in the whole series. She is almost drab in her attire throughout the show - jeans, t-shirt, boots, and a jacket. No spandex hugging her hips, cropped shirt showing off her abdomen, or thigh high boots for this Jessica Jones. There is a funny reference to the possibility of wearing a costume (a nod to when she did wear (a bad) one in the comic books), but she deflected the idea with a terrific reference to giant camel toes. Well done, JJ. To be honest, Daredevil was more of a physical object that Jessica Jones through most of the show.
But most important is that this show has offered us one of the best women on tv. If the Bechdel Test were graded, Jessica Jones would have aced it. She has a love interest (Luke Cage) and a nemesis (Kilgrave the Purple Man), but she has friends and relatively real relationships. Those friends are themselves powerful, independent women. Trish (who might become Hellcat?) is haunted by her own demons, but she fights through them and refuses to be a victim again. They talk about their relationship, their lives, and their problems.
A little side note about the show's most interesting (and weird) female character - Robin, the neighbour with a twin. Whoever created her character and wrote her lines, good for you. She is a nut who stole every scene she was in. I kept wondering what future plans there are for her character because her set-up was just too funny.
Anyway, back to Jessica Jones. I did, of course, hate the Kilgrave conflict. If it didn't have roots in the comic books themselves, I would have said they should have made Kilgrave an archenemy for a male lead instead. The whole mind control thing in a sexual relationship essentially creates the dynamic of a perpetual state of sex slavery, but it was symbolically of great value that Jessica triumphs over that power.
It was also a pretty courageous choice on the part of the show's creators to have another of his victims choose to have an abortion (and go through with it) rather than have the child conceived while she was forced to be with him. When was the last time a character on television actually went through with an abortion, anyway. The only one I remember is Maude, and that was in 1972.
1972!!!!!
Jessica Jones isn't brilliant television, but it was not a binge that I feel guilty about. To the creators, congratulations on doing some great things. You did way more as artists and explored way more of the social issues of our times than any of those stupid Marvel movies did. They had all the money in the world and they had absolutely nothing to say. You said a lot, and my viewing partner and I really appreciated it.
And Jessica Jones is one of the most refreshing female characters on television. She is almost resolutely crabby, smiling perhaps twice in the whole series. She is almost drab in her attire throughout the show - jeans, t-shirt, boots, and a jacket. No spandex hugging her hips, cropped shirt showing off her abdomen, or thigh high boots for this Jessica Jones. There is a funny reference to the possibility of wearing a costume (a nod to when she did wear (a bad) one in the comic books), but she deflected the idea with a terrific reference to giant camel toes. Well done, JJ. To be honest, Daredevil was more of a physical object that Jessica Jones through most of the show.
But most important is that this show has offered us one of the best women on tv. If the Bechdel Test were graded, Jessica Jones would have aced it. She has a love interest (Luke Cage) and a nemesis (Kilgrave the Purple Man), but she has friends and relatively real relationships. Those friends are themselves powerful, independent women. Trish (who might become Hellcat?) is haunted by her own demons, but she fights through them and refuses to be a victim again. They talk about their relationship, their lives, and their problems.
A little side note about the show's most interesting (and weird) female character - Robin, the neighbour with a twin. Whoever created her character and wrote her lines, good for you. She is a nut who stole every scene she was in. I kept wondering what future plans there are for her character because her set-up was just too funny.
Anyway, back to Jessica Jones. I did, of course, hate the Kilgrave conflict. If it didn't have roots in the comic books themselves, I would have said they should have made Kilgrave an archenemy for a male lead instead. The whole mind control thing in a sexual relationship essentially creates the dynamic of a perpetual state of sex slavery, but it was symbolically of great value that Jessica triumphs over that power.
It was also a pretty courageous choice on the part of the show's creators to have another of his victims choose to have an abortion (and go through with it) rather than have the child conceived while she was forced to be with him. When was the last time a character on television actually went through with an abortion, anyway. The only one I remember is Maude, and that was in 1972.
1972!!!!!
Jessica Jones isn't brilliant television, but it was not a binge that I feel guilty about. To the creators, congratulations on doing some great things. You did way more as artists and explored way more of the social issues of our times than any of those stupid Marvel movies did. They had all the money in the world and they had absolutely nothing to say. You said a lot, and my viewing partner and I really appreciated it.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Yule Duel - A big deal
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| Yule Duel 2015 |
It's still the home of many of the city's poorest residents with SRO hotels, shelters, and soup kitchens. At the Carnegie Centre, you'll qualify as a senior citizen at the ripe old age of 45 because of the greatly reduced life expectancy of so many of their regular clients. At the same time, it's where people come to buy furniture that costs as much as a used car, to browse through arm and a leg clothing boutiques, and to eat in some of the city's best, most expensive restaurants.
Gastown is a crossroads. And that's one of the things I love about it.
Thursday's Yule Duel, a public event open to any and everyone who happened to be out, was another one of those things that have made me fall in love with my new home city. Taking over the neighbourhood for music and throwing it open to everyone brought every element of Gastown and the East Side into the streets. It showed off the beauty of the neighbourhood but excluded no one. We need more events like this in the East Side.
To the organizers, thanks. I look forward to next year.
The Swinging Bridge - Interesting exploration of Trinidadian culture
The Swinging Bridge by Ramabai Espinet is an interesting book, but it wasn't a great one. It's interesting because it explores a part of Trinidadian (and Canadian) culture that is overlooked, misunderstood, or perhaps even deliberately 'simplified' out of the mainstream narrative of the Caribbean.
The plot of the novel revolves around an Indian Trinidadian family and their experiences both in Trinidad and later in Canada. Other than wondering occasionally how roti became a staple of many Caribbean (and Toronto) diets, I never really considered the Indo Trinidadian experience. I had noticed that a fair number of roti shops in Toronto seemed to be owned by people of South Asian descent who also seemed to have come to Canada from the Caribbean. That's where it kind of stopped (shame on me, I suppose).
It was this setting that prompted me to read The Swinging Bridge. In it, Espinet's central character, Mona, feels disconnected from a lot of things, calling herself a 'nowarian'. She doesn't feel rooted in her Canadian life in Montreal, but she also understands why her family left Trinidad (during a period in which Indo-Trinidadians were marginalized). The strength of the book lies in its exploration of the experience of Indo Trinidadians (and women in particular), first as indentured labourers then as Trinidadians who don't quite fit the newly independent (in 1962) nation's vision of itself that is most interesting. At least that is the way Mona, the main character, describes it.
The weakness in the book is twofold. First, the disjointed nature of the storytelling makes it hard to really engage with the book. Second, Espinet's main character isn't particularly likeable. She isn't 'nice' to anyone and seems wrapped up entirely in her own experience. Even the death of her brother seems to remind her most about the difficulties in her own life.
In short, the best part of the book is the questions about the experience of Indo-Trinidadians that the book raised. In fact, if it weren't for those, I would have likely stopped reading (something I rarely do). But you have to give credit to a book that makes you want to go out and learn more. For that, I am thankful.
The plot of the novel revolves around an Indian Trinidadian family and their experiences both in Trinidad and later in Canada. Other than wondering occasionally how roti became a staple of many Caribbean (and Toronto) diets, I never really considered the Indo Trinidadian experience. I had noticed that a fair number of roti shops in Toronto seemed to be owned by people of South Asian descent who also seemed to have come to Canada from the Caribbean. That's where it kind of stopped (shame on me, I suppose).
It was this setting that prompted me to read The Swinging Bridge. In it, Espinet's central character, Mona, feels disconnected from a lot of things, calling herself a 'nowarian'. She doesn't feel rooted in her Canadian life in Montreal, but she also understands why her family left Trinidad (during a period in which Indo-Trinidadians were marginalized). The strength of the book lies in its exploration of the experience of Indo Trinidadians (and women in particular), first as indentured labourers then as Trinidadians who don't quite fit the newly independent (in 1962) nation's vision of itself that is most interesting. At least that is the way Mona, the main character, describes it.
The weakness in the book is twofold. First, the disjointed nature of the storytelling makes it hard to really engage with the book. Second, Espinet's main character isn't particularly likeable. She isn't 'nice' to anyone and seems wrapped up entirely in her own experience. Even the death of her brother seems to remind her most about the difficulties in her own life.
In short, the best part of the book is the questions about the experience of Indo-Trinidadians that the book raised. In fact, if it weren't for those, I would have likely stopped reading (something I rarely do). But you have to give credit to a book that makes you want to go out and learn more. For that, I am thankful.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Bestie - Even without the cider you were awesome
Tonight I went out for German food. NO, that's not a mistake. I went to a little German restaurant - billed as "Chinatown's Finest Currywurst" - over on Pender. The fact that there is a German restaurant anywhere outside of Germany always surprises me because, well, it not like people usually crave German food, right? I mean, it's eas to see why Italian/Chinese/Thai/etc. food spread around the planet. And it's equally easy to imagine why there aren't tons of German restaurants. You know...sausages, potatoes, sauerkraut, they aren't the types of things people pine for.
But Bestie was absolutely fantastic. I actually went for the cider but found out on arrival that it wasn't ready yet. I considered leaving and coming back when the cider was ready but instead decided to give Bestie a whirl before heading over to the Yule Duel. I'm certainly glad I did.
Everything from the mustard to wurst, the fries to the pickles was delicious. A lot of restaurants are good, but they don't surprise you. Bestie was great and completely surprised me. In fact, I can't wait to go back. I can actually imagine, for the first time in my life thinking, "Hmmm, I could go for some German food right about now."
Oh, and the service was great too.
But Bestie was absolutely fantastic. I actually went for the cider but found out on arrival that it wasn't ready yet. I considered leaving and coming back when the cider was ready but instead decided to give Bestie a whirl before heading over to the Yule Duel. I'm certainly glad I did.
Everything from the mustard to wurst, the fries to the pickles was delicious. A lot of restaurants are good, but they don't surprise you. Bestie was great and completely surprised me. In fact, I can't wait to go back. I can actually imagine, for the first time in my life thinking, "Hmmm, I could go for some German food right about now."
Oh, and the service was great too.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Saint Saturnin de Lucian
This post is looooong delayed, but this experience was so good I still had to write about it.
This summer I visited my wonderful French family, and my cousin planned an incredible excursion to Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert, a gorgeous town in the Hérault Valley. What deserves mention here, though, is our stay in Le Mimosa in Saint-Saturnin-de-Lucian. The hotel is amazing, especially to those of us who aren't from Europe and aren't used to seeing ancient buildings as part of the day-to-day landscape. The bottom photo shows the interior of our room. The giant stone wall jutting out seemingly from nowhere is the remains of the old town walls that were just incorporated into the building of the hotel. Why waste a good stone wall, right?
Aside from the room, the hotel owners prepare some of the greatest meals I have ever eaten. Even better when the food is so good, it was seemingly endless. Thanks to the help from my cousin and the presence of the owner's brother (who spoke English really well), we got to enjoy great conversation with our meals as well.
I never would have made it to Saint Saturnin without my dear cousin, but it's definitely a place I would return to. Incredible food, incredible hotel and all within easy driving distance of incredible wineries.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
I have had Cloud Atlas waiting for me for a long time, and I was definitely not disappointed. I love David Mitchell and was tremendously impressed by the ambition of this novel. I think I was even more impressed that it came before Black Swan Green, another favourite. So often authors start small (i.e. with a traditional style narrative) and then feel they have to go 'big' and experimental. Mitchell showed that traditional storytelling matters as much as time-spanning meditations on what it means to be human.
Glad I waited until I had time to read this book well - that is, with enough time to read big chunks of it in one sitting. That way I was able to appreciate not just Mitchell's power with words but also his ability to weave disparate worlds together.
Glad I waited until I had time to read this book well - that is, with enough time to read big chunks of it in one sitting. That way I was able to appreciate not just Mitchell's power with words but also his ability to weave disparate worlds together.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
The East Side Culture Crawl - An arts weekend
I have talked before about things I love in my new city, but today brought an unprecedented level of admiration. The East Side Culture Crawl is an incredible opportunity to see over 400 artists and designers in person with their work. They have thrown open their studios (which is fantastic in and of itself), but in this city that I now call home, the neighbourhood was full of people walking around and visiting all the incredibly creative spaces.
Thanks, Vancouver, for being a city of people who care about such things.. Thanks, East Side Culture Crawl, for organising the event. Thank you, artists, for making our city a better place to be.
Thanks, Vancouver, for being a city of people who care about such things.. Thanks, East Side Culture Crawl, for organising the event. Thank you, artists, for making our city a better place to be.
Button Pushers - A rant
You know those big round buttons near doors? They usually have a wheelchair on them and 'push' written on them. They seem to have proliferated in my years outside of Canada so that now they are on doors of all types. They are, I'm sure, a huge boon to people with any kind of physical impediment to entering and exiting through heavy doors. These impediments might range from a disability to carrying heavy bags of groceries. Parents with strollers, I am sure, love them.
Okay, benefits of the buttons is now established.
So why is everyone else using them? Seriously. Why does the guy exiting the building in front of me push the button and wait for the door to open for him? He's probably 30 (at most), fit and heading off to work. But he still pushes that button. Why does the young woman use her fob to unlock the door and then push the button and stand there waiting for it to open?
The other day I finished working out and was in a bit of a rush, and the guy ahead of me (who had also just finished working out) pushed the button and we both had to stand there waiting for the door to open. I almost ran into him because I was walking fast behind him. I almost wish I had run into him so that I could have said, "Ooops, sorry, I thought you were going THROUGH the door."
The only reason I can think of (and I could be completely wrong) for so many people to be pushing the buttons is the generalized germophobia we all seem to be feeling. When I asked a friend recently why she chose to push the button, that was her answer - "Germs!" But that doesn't make any sense when you think about it. Door or button, they have both been pawed by countless numbers of hands. I usually open doors either with the back of my hand or my sleeve, but the big round buttons seem like they would be harder to do that with because of their placement height. That is, they would be harder to avoid 'germy' contact with.
So what gives? What's driving people unencumbered by injury, disability, children, or packages to stop opening doors under their own power? Is it the feeling of control (though we are far more in control if we are actually opening the doors themselves)? Is it laziness? What gives???
Okay, benefits of the buttons is now established.
So why is everyone else using them? Seriously. Why does the guy exiting the building in front of me push the button and wait for the door to open for him? He's probably 30 (at most), fit and heading off to work. But he still pushes that button. Why does the young woman use her fob to unlock the door and then push the button and stand there waiting for it to open?
The other day I finished working out and was in a bit of a rush, and the guy ahead of me (who had also just finished working out) pushed the button and we both had to stand there waiting for the door to open. I almost ran into him because I was walking fast behind him. I almost wish I had run into him so that I could have said, "Ooops, sorry, I thought you were going THROUGH the door."
The only reason I can think of (and I could be completely wrong) for so many people to be pushing the buttons is the generalized germophobia we all seem to be feeling. When I asked a friend recently why she chose to push the button, that was her answer - "Germs!" But that doesn't make any sense when you think about it. Door or button, they have both been pawed by countless numbers of hands. I usually open doors either with the back of my hand or my sleeve, but the big round buttons seem like they would be harder to do that with because of their placement height. That is, they would be harder to avoid 'germy' contact with.
So what gives? What's driving people unencumbered by injury, disability, children, or packages to stop opening doors under their own power? Is it the feeling of control (though we are far more in control if we are actually opening the doors themselves)? Is it laziness? What gives???
Friday, November 20, 2015
Lynn Canyon - A frosty hike
These cold days brought crystal clear skies, so we headed up to Lynn Canyon all the way to Norvan Falls. Gorgeous day...cold hands but amazed by the forest and the mountains.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Earnest Ice Cream and A&W - Unlikely birds of a feather
Okay, to write about A&W and Earnest Ice Cream in the same post probably doesn't happen too often. A&W, after all is a big corporate chain of fast food restaurants. Earnest Ice Cream, on the other hand is basically producing ice cream more like an artisan would. They make it in (delicious small batches) and sell locally. They only have two stores, and growth is not their primary concern.
That said, I was shocked to find that they have a few things in common. Let's start with the easy one of the two, Earnest.
Earnest is seriously some of the best ice cream I have ever had. I am not one to spend five dollars on an ice cream cone easily, but this is worth it. The range of flavours is incredible, and the quality of the ingredients is obvious with each lick. The thing I rave about the most when I talk about Earnest, however, is their goal of being zero-waste. The ice cream either comes in a cone or a real dish. With a real spoon. Even if you request a taste, you get it on real, metal spoon. Not one of those ridiculous bio-degradable plastic jokes that are just a bit better than plastic. Everything in the store is compostable; the garbage can has a sign over the mouth to stop you from throwing anything away because, if you got it in the store, you can compost it. Quality and conscience plus local ownership and ingredients...You can't go wrong. I love you, Earnest. You are my number one choice when I indulge myself with dessert (which is not too often).
Then there is A&W. I joked for a long time about going to A&W after seeing the commercials for Chubby Chicken. My joking was based primarily on the name - Chubby Chicken - as it conjures odd images for me. I don't often eat fast food, and when I do, it's not usually from a big chain. One day, however, circumstances aligned just right and A&W was the best option for us to get a quick meal.
They offer a decent veggie burger and really good fries. That's a prerequisite, but it gets better. [Before I go into detail, let me acknowledge that I know it's a big chain and chain eating is not something that should be a norm for anyone, but, hey, A&W deserves some big props here. These are just the props, not a blind spot.]
They have stopped using beef produced with hormones or steroids. Similarly, their chicken does the same AND skips antibiotics. Their tomatoes are grown in greenhouses because it's more environmentally efficient. Nice one, A&W.
When I ate in the restaurant, I was shocked to get my fries in a metal basket, my drink in a real mug (not a throwaway cup), and my veggie burger with a simple paper wrapper (no clamshell thingy). That doesn't even happen sometimes when you eat in a non-fast food restaurant.
Plus, A&W in Canada is actually CANADIAN OWNED. Yes, it's true. A&W in Canada is more Canadian than Tim Horton's, everyone. Plus, since they are sourcing so many of their ingredients in Canada, this is really your most Canadian choice.
So, A&W is not perfect, but if circumstance ever make it the best choice, I will very happily (no guilty conscience) eat at A&W. Good job, guys. You may not be Earnest, but you earned my respect.
That said, I was shocked to find that they have a few things in common. Let's start with the easy one of the two, Earnest.
Earnest is seriously some of the best ice cream I have ever had. I am not one to spend five dollars on an ice cream cone easily, but this is worth it. The range of flavours is incredible, and the quality of the ingredients is obvious with each lick. The thing I rave about the most when I talk about Earnest, however, is their goal of being zero-waste. The ice cream either comes in a cone or a real dish. With a real spoon. Even if you request a taste, you get it on real, metal spoon. Not one of those ridiculous bio-degradable plastic jokes that are just a bit better than plastic. Everything in the store is compostable; the garbage can has a sign over the mouth to stop you from throwing anything away because, if you got it in the store, you can compost it. Quality and conscience plus local ownership and ingredients...You can't go wrong. I love you, Earnest. You are my number one choice when I indulge myself with dessert (which is not too often).
Then there is A&W. I joked for a long time about going to A&W after seeing the commercials for Chubby Chicken. My joking was based primarily on the name - Chubby Chicken - as it conjures odd images for me. I don't often eat fast food, and when I do, it's not usually from a big chain. One day, however, circumstances aligned just right and A&W was the best option for us to get a quick meal.
They offer a decent veggie burger and really good fries. That's a prerequisite, but it gets better. [Before I go into detail, let me acknowledge that I know it's a big chain and chain eating is not something that should be a norm for anyone, but, hey, A&W deserves some big props here. These are just the props, not a blind spot.]
They have stopped using beef produced with hormones or steroids. Similarly, their chicken does the same AND skips antibiotics. Their tomatoes are grown in greenhouses because it's more environmentally efficient. Nice one, A&W.
When I ate in the restaurant, I was shocked to get my fries in a metal basket, my drink in a real mug (not a throwaway cup), and my veggie burger with a simple paper wrapper (no clamshell thingy). That doesn't even happen sometimes when you eat in a non-fast food restaurant.
Plus, A&W in Canada is actually CANADIAN OWNED. Yes, it's true. A&W in Canada is more Canadian than Tim Horton's, everyone. Plus, since they are sourcing so many of their ingredients in Canada, this is really your most Canadian choice.
So, A&W is not perfect, but if circumstance ever make it the best choice, I will very happily (no guilty conscience) eat at A&W. Good job, guys. You may not be Earnest, but you earned my respect.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
On the subject of dads and books...
Recently I told the somewhat embarrassing story of going to Lordco in Osoyoos to buy wiper blades. That story prompted some reflection on my present and past and led to a story about my father.
In the meantime I have still been thinking about the novel Your Face in Mine by Jess Row. The book is pretty memorable for quite a few reasons. This book also has a 'dad' connection that is worth a little storytelling. I got lucky with my own dad, but I also got lucky with my two fathers-in-law, and the book is emblematic of a tiny part of that.
If I walk into my in-laws apartment, I know with unwavering certainty that the coffee table will be covered with an assortment of thought-provoking books. New and interesting, classic and unforgettable, it's all there. My fathers-in-law being who they are, they usually encourage us to leave with at least one book.
It's one of those nebulous things that, simply by its existence, reassures and comforts me - something like a bowl of soup on a wet Vancouver afternoon. It's nice to know that there will always be a pile of books there, that there will be people reading those books, and that someone will insist you take one away to read.
It's nice to know that the people you're stereotypically supposed to dread being around, love to talk to you about books, ideas, films, and plays. They engage with the world and with you and crave new experiences...
As I'm writing this, I'm realising that I really don't have any point. I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than to say I'm lucky. Perhaps I'm just feeling sentimental about Dad and the season in general...
Whatever it is, I am glad to know those books will be there on the coffee table. Thanks, Dads.
In the meantime I have still been thinking about the novel Your Face in Mine by Jess Row. The book is pretty memorable for quite a few reasons. This book also has a 'dad' connection that is worth a little storytelling. I got lucky with my own dad, but I also got lucky with my two fathers-in-law, and the book is emblematic of a tiny part of that.
If I walk into my in-laws apartment, I know with unwavering certainty that the coffee table will be covered with an assortment of thought-provoking books. New and interesting, classic and unforgettable, it's all there. My fathers-in-law being who they are, they usually encourage us to leave with at least one book.
It's one of those nebulous things that, simply by its existence, reassures and comforts me - something like a bowl of soup on a wet Vancouver afternoon. It's nice to know that there will always be a pile of books there, that there will be people reading those books, and that someone will insist you take one away to read.
It's nice to know that the people you're stereotypically supposed to dread being around, love to talk to you about books, ideas, films, and plays. They engage with the world and with you and crave new experiences...
As I'm writing this, I'm realising that I really don't have any point. I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than to say I'm lucky. Perhaps I'm just feeling sentimental about Dad and the season in general...
Whatever it is, I am glad to know those books will be there on the coffee table. Thanks, Dads.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Out of My Element at Lordco (part 2): A Dad story
I wrote recently of the humbling experience of shopping for wiper blades at Lordco. If you didn't read the other post, it basically came down to being relatively smart but not knowing how to do much of anything. That's where I am now, but it wasn't always this way. In fact, I could have turned out to be a pretty good guy to have around in the zombie apocalypse, but life had other plans.
I come from handy stock. My dad, and it seems all the men before him, knew what they were doing with a toolbox. My dad apprenticed early on and did all kinds of construction work in his early years. He worked on huge infrastructure projects, installing major machinery and, along the way, picking up a bunch of different skills. Once he had a family, he left behind the vagaries of construction and the life of work camps in the bush for a steady office job.
That didn't stop him from doing physical work, though. My parents bought a major fixer-upper when I was very young. My dad fixed dry wall, painted, cleared pipes, and repaired wiring before we moved in. The weekends of my childhood were filled with my dad working on the house to make it better. He turned our unfinished basement into the second living room (but the one we actually used as opposed to the one upstairs). He poured cement to fix the cracks in the masonry and the paving around the house. He installed insulation in the walls and ceiling and added Tudor-like touches to the eaves of the house. He planted trees, fixed fences, and even managed to put up a basketball hoop for me.
Somehow he even found time to help other people do work on their houses. Friends and neighbours always knew my dad could and would help. Trips to my grandmother's cottage were essentially work trips for my dad as he fixed everything that broke over the winter (which seemed to be a stunning amount of things). While others saw the cottage as a way to get away from it all and relax, my dad knew it would be a lot of work. Loving my grandmother (my mum's mum) as he did, I don't think he minded as long as she made him eggplant at least once.
In truth, it was pretty amazing, especially since he had little or no training in most of those areas.
I think even as a little kid I was kind of in awe of all the things he was constantly doing. I started out just following him into the basement, watching and asking constant questions. 'What's that?' "What does that do?' 'Where are you putting that?' 'What kind of glue is that?'
I was the shop assistant that basically didn't assist but just asked annoying questions. It might have been to shut me up, but my dad eventually started giving me pieces of wood, extra nails, a hammer, whatever was lying around. I happily started banging away at things. Making things would be way too big a stretch, but I was doing things. Then I got the best Christmas present of my life - my own tool set. Not one of those little plastic things, but a real set of tools scaled down for smaller people. I had a saw, clamps, a plane, a hammer, a level, hand drill...it was awesome. Now I was hooked. Every time my dad went down to the basement to work, I followed. My dad showed my how to mark wood and cut straight. Sometimes I even cut things for him and sanded them down after. I had my own little corner of the work area with a hang board and everything. I kept all my tools clean and put them away neatly at the end of every 'shift.'
I guess I was on my way to being handy, and then life intervened and threw a wrench in the works. My parents separated (temporarily) and sold the house. Though they eventually got back together, it was apartment living from then on. No more work space, no scraps of wood, and no real projects. I don't think my dad minded too much. After all, his weekends actually became a time to relax instead of fix something around the house. My mum was probably pleased too since they could finally do something together on the weekend. I, however, was bumped off the track of becoming the handy guy who could fix or build something for you after the zombie apocalypse.
I had two more forays into the world of tools. In high school I took wood shop and actually made some pretty good stuff. A woman I brought home once was even shocked that I had made the cutting board my parents had. It was pretty good. That said, the B+ I got in shop meant that I wouldn't risk taking another class like it for fear of it messing up my grade point average. Easier to take an academic class with tests and essays. I could study for those.
Later on, when I returned to Toronto as an adult, I taught myself how to do all my own bike repairs. I even collected a decent set of tools. Once again though, my homes after that have all been apartments with no real work space. If you asked me to repack the bottom bracket on my bike now, the first thing I would do is probably go look for a youtube video to figure out where to start. Today I am probably best described as intelligently incompetent. The woman at Lordco might not even credit me that much.
Now that I have started life on theBside, however, I am determined to get started on that path of being somewhat self-sufficient. My first step is knots (something else my dad was damn good at). I figure I can learn that while watching a movie. We'll see.
Either way, I feel like I have a lot to live up to. Coming up on three years since his death, my dad still gives me something to aspire to.
I come from handy stock. My dad, and it seems all the men before him, knew what they were doing with a toolbox. My dad apprenticed early on and did all kinds of construction work in his early years. He worked on huge infrastructure projects, installing major machinery and, along the way, picking up a bunch of different skills. Once he had a family, he left behind the vagaries of construction and the life of work camps in the bush for a steady office job.
That didn't stop him from doing physical work, though. My parents bought a major fixer-upper when I was very young. My dad fixed dry wall, painted, cleared pipes, and repaired wiring before we moved in. The weekends of my childhood were filled with my dad working on the house to make it better. He turned our unfinished basement into the second living room (but the one we actually used as opposed to the one upstairs). He poured cement to fix the cracks in the masonry and the paving around the house. He installed insulation in the walls and ceiling and added Tudor-like touches to the eaves of the house. He planted trees, fixed fences, and even managed to put up a basketball hoop for me.
Somehow he even found time to help other people do work on their houses. Friends and neighbours always knew my dad could and would help. Trips to my grandmother's cottage were essentially work trips for my dad as he fixed everything that broke over the winter (which seemed to be a stunning amount of things). While others saw the cottage as a way to get away from it all and relax, my dad knew it would be a lot of work. Loving my grandmother (my mum's mum) as he did, I don't think he minded as long as she made him eggplant at least once.
In truth, it was pretty amazing, especially since he had little or no training in most of those areas.
I think even as a little kid I was kind of in awe of all the things he was constantly doing. I started out just following him into the basement, watching and asking constant questions. 'What's that?' "What does that do?' 'Where are you putting that?' 'What kind of glue is that?'
I was the shop assistant that basically didn't assist but just asked annoying questions. It might have been to shut me up, but my dad eventually started giving me pieces of wood, extra nails, a hammer, whatever was lying around. I happily started banging away at things. Making things would be way too big a stretch, but I was doing things. Then I got the best Christmas present of my life - my own tool set. Not one of those little plastic things, but a real set of tools scaled down for smaller people. I had a saw, clamps, a plane, a hammer, a level, hand drill...it was awesome. Now I was hooked. Every time my dad went down to the basement to work, I followed. My dad showed my how to mark wood and cut straight. Sometimes I even cut things for him and sanded them down after. I had my own little corner of the work area with a hang board and everything. I kept all my tools clean and put them away neatly at the end of every 'shift.'
I guess I was on my way to being handy, and then life intervened and threw a wrench in the works. My parents separated (temporarily) and sold the house. Though they eventually got back together, it was apartment living from then on. No more work space, no scraps of wood, and no real projects. I don't think my dad minded too much. After all, his weekends actually became a time to relax instead of fix something around the house. My mum was probably pleased too since they could finally do something together on the weekend. I, however, was bumped off the track of becoming the handy guy who could fix or build something for you after the zombie apocalypse.
I had two more forays into the world of tools. In high school I took wood shop and actually made some pretty good stuff. A woman I brought home once was even shocked that I had made the cutting board my parents had. It was pretty good. That said, the B+ I got in shop meant that I wouldn't risk taking another class like it for fear of it messing up my grade point average. Easier to take an academic class with tests and essays. I could study for those.
Later on, when I returned to Toronto as an adult, I taught myself how to do all my own bike repairs. I even collected a decent set of tools. Once again though, my homes after that have all been apartments with no real work space. If you asked me to repack the bottom bracket on my bike now, the first thing I would do is probably go look for a youtube video to figure out where to start. Today I am probably best described as intelligently incompetent. The woman at Lordco might not even credit me that much.
Now that I have started life on theBside, however, I am determined to get started on that path of being somewhat self-sufficient. My first step is knots (something else my dad was damn good at). I figure I can learn that while watching a movie. We'll see.
Either way, I feel like I have a lot to live up to. Coming up on three years since his death, my dad still gives me something to aspire to.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Writing Across the Curriculum: It doesn't have to be the domain of language arts, ya know?
Writing Across the Curriculum: We Can All be Writing Teachers
Whether we want to admit it or not, writing is still the basis of communication for almost all core academic subjects. Today many teachers (and many of those who came before us) have done incredible work to create innovative projects that allow students to demonstrate learning using different media (think video, podcasts, book talks, pecha kucha), but they all have a basis in written communication. A video project without a script is pretty much guaranteed to be a disaster. An off the cuff pecha kucha will put an audience to sleep.
Then of course there are all those essays, lab reports, stories, blog posts, explanations of solutions to math problems, and exams; each one has a legitimate place in the student toolbox as they learn to communicate ideas, information and opinions. And they all depend on the ability to write. Even for those who dictate their work, it’s still writing - there’s just a device ‘hitting’ the keys instead of human fingers on a keyboard.
Writing instruction, however, remains primarily the domain of the Language Arts teacher (and occasionally the Social Studies teacher). It’s not just the commas, periods and semicolons, but the organisation of ideas, the clarity of expression, and the use of language that fall, in most cases, to Language Arts. The better students write, however, the more successful they will be in all subject areas. Plus, imagine how much happier the science teachers will be with coherent lab reports that follow a solid organisational plan. Or the math teachers who can actually make sense of the steps students describe in their explanations of problem solving.
So how do we make the teaching of writing a shared endeavour?
- Share those rubrics! We language arts teachers can start by sharing our writing rubrics with our colleagues in other departments. Imagine the science teachers deciding to take just one column of a language arts rubric (say, writing organisation) and adding it to their lab report rubrics. The teachers get a ready-made tool for assessing the skill, and students get reinforcement of a skill they are developing in another class.
- Suggested tools: Google Drive is a super simple, free way of sharing rubrics between courses and teachers. You can make them “View only’ if you want to and your colleagues can make a (digital) copy. They can then use and edit that copy, perhaps by just copying a column (e.g. Language) to their own rubrics for something like a lab report.
- Invite teachers from other departments to anchoring sessions. At our school we start and finish each year with a common writing assessment to determine individual and group writing needs. Why should that meeting be open only to Language Arts teachers? Bring in reps from other departments and have them weigh in on what our collective goals should be. It gives them a voice and stake in writing instruction. Perhaps most importantly, it reinforces the idea that writing is a team effort.
- Suggested digital tools: For this one, nothing beats a face-to-face meeting. It’s the discussion that counts. Sorry.
- Design some units that have crossover. Maybe we’re emphasising sentence structure or language clarity in Language Arts. Science teachers could work on lab reports in class, and we could use time in Language Arts to apply what we have been working on to peer edit them. Or take an example like writing conventions. In middle school, we often work towards building sentence sophistication. Let’s say we do a mini-lesson on compound sentences (e.g. I multiplied the speed (42 km/hr) times the time (45 minutes or .75 hours), and the result was 31.5 km), and we share that with our fabulous math colleagues. They could ask for and expect students to incorporate them into their problem solving explanations.
- Suggested digital tools: Google Drive could work for this to share ideas and resources, but if you really want to move towards integrated units, try creating an integrated digital space for your course or unit. If your school is willing to pay for it, you could go with a Learning Management System (LMS) bursting with features like Haiku. Haiku allows multiple teachers and student rosters and comes with built in discussion functions, dropbox space, and assessment tools (quizzes and grading). Free alternatives include: Coursesites by Blackboard, edmodo, EasyClass, or Wikispaces.
- Writing celebrations and/or contests Invite the other departments to write, share and judge. It sends a huge message that the school culture embraces writing.
- Suggested digital tools: You could use any of the above (Coursesites by Blackboard, edmodo, EasyClass, Google Drive or Wikispaces) to take submissions, create polls/nominations, or collect comments on writing pieces. Invite parents to view as well. For the writing celebration itself, try digital slideshows running during the day showcasing particularly elegant turns of phrase or short excerpts of bold prose running throughout the day in your library. Consider author or reader interviews (with students) in iMovie running on your playlist in YouTube in the cafeteria or office.
- Design integrated units that culminate in multi-disciplinary projects. It was always a dream at our school to take one of our Humanities units (like Adaptation) and tie it into math and science. We already looked at Adaptation from a social studies perspective and intertwined it with personal narrative writing and literature. Why not take science (plant adaptations under different growing conditions, for example) and math (calculating growth rates given different variables) and weave those in as well? The final result would be a multi-disciplinary project with instruction and assessment from all teachers involved.
- Suggested digital tools: This one is ripe with possibility. Think of something where students can combine writing, video, images, and graphics (just as examples). In one day, students could write in Science, screencast in Math, present in English, and film in Social Studies. Something like Google Sites would allow them to then combine all the elements of their multi-disciplinary projects in one place viewable by peers and teams of teachers.
These are, for the most part, baby steps towards integrating writing instruction and only intended as ideas. When everyone teaches writing, everyone wins.
Fuse at the VAG - An awesome evening
Last night, the Vancouver Art Gallery hosted Fuse, an evening of art, music, and dance. It was a great opportunity to make seeing art a festive, fun event. Kudos to the curators who planned this great event. Who would imagine people lining up on a cold rainy night to get into an art gallery?
Nicely done.
Nicely done.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Jess Row's Your Face in Mine - Remarkable in several ways
Your Face in Mine is a good novel. It's the first novel I have read since starting life on #theBside here in Vancouver - which is an unusually long interval for me to go without reading a novel. It was good to resume my reading life with a book that gives so much to think about.
Perhaps what strikes me the most about the book is that a quick scan of my search results for the title only gives the usual - a New York Times review (linked above), goodreads, amazon, Slate, the Los Angeles Times, etc. Given the the theme and content of Jess Row's book, it seems amazing that the book didn't make the news. Not just the news of book reviews and book clubs, but the news-news, the talking head and panel shows.
The book was published in 2014, and the Rachel Dolezal story broke in June 2015. Remember her? She was the white woman who 'became' an African American woman, even going so far as to be a leader for the NAACP. Her professional life fell apart when her parents spoke out to say that, yes, their daughter was white. As details emerged, it became clear that Dolezal had 'revised and edited' just about every aspect of her personal story. Some elements were deleted, others added, and a host of others were like Jack's magic beans. They became seeds for something much larger than life.
When the story broke, it consumed the mainstream media for a brief period. There were those who were simply fascinated, and then there were those who truly found the issues raised to be both intellectually and emotionally important. What is identity? If race is basically a social construct, are genetics really that important? Is it racist to appropriate someone's culture?
With all the attention her story garnered, I still can't believe that Jess Row and his novel Your Face in Mine didn't somehow leap to the fore of the media storm. Why? Okay, I deliberately postponed making the connection. Row wrote a novel that one would think would have been written immediately after the Dolezal 'scandal'. Instead, he wrote a novel about a white, Jewish man who, after a childhood and adolescence of 'racial dysphoria' seeks out the medical treatments necessary to become an African American man.
Now this book could have been nothing but a story revolving around the gimmick of adopting another racial identity. But there really isn't anything gimmicky about the book. Row's novel is serious, just as his character, Martin, is serious about the idea that he was basically born in the wrong body. It's a serious literary look at identity, at who we are and what we choose to be.
Martin, a stalwart capitalist, sees choice as the new frontier of identity. Now that medicine (in the novel) has unlocked the process by which we can become what we believe we are, a huge new market awaits. As part of his marketing strategy, Martin hires Kelly, the one connection to his past identity, to be his putative biographer and tell his story of disconnection, discovery, and transformation.
Kelly, weighed down by his own personal story of loss, is himself a man of complicated identity. A fluent Mandarin speaker with a now dead Chinese wife and child, he is adrift and alone. It's partly testament to Row's writing, that I didn't connect Kelly's experience to the idea of identity at all for at least half the novel. He is, at first, just a very sad man trying to create some kind of forward momentum for his life. As things unfold, however, Row begins to show how a sense of belonging is as much a part of identity (racial or otherwise) as anything else.
Like I said, it's a good book. I'm glad it didn't become popular because of Rachel Dolezal, but I am surprised that it didn't get more attention. After all, Row actually took the time to write a thoughtful novel that examines not only the concept of racial identity but what it means to all of us to be part of something larger than us. And he did it all before Rachel Dolezal's story broke.
I can't help but wonder if she has read it.
Perhaps what strikes me the most about the book is that a quick scan of my search results for the title only gives the usual - a New York Times review (linked above), goodreads, amazon, Slate, the Los Angeles Times, etc. Given the the theme and content of Jess Row's book, it seems amazing that the book didn't make the news. Not just the news of book reviews and book clubs, but the news-news, the talking head and panel shows.
The book was published in 2014, and the Rachel Dolezal story broke in June 2015. Remember her? She was the white woman who 'became' an African American woman, even going so far as to be a leader for the NAACP. Her professional life fell apart when her parents spoke out to say that, yes, their daughter was white. As details emerged, it became clear that Dolezal had 'revised and edited' just about every aspect of her personal story. Some elements were deleted, others added, and a host of others were like Jack's magic beans. They became seeds for something much larger than life.
When the story broke, it consumed the mainstream media for a brief period. There were those who were simply fascinated, and then there were those who truly found the issues raised to be both intellectually and emotionally important. What is identity? If race is basically a social construct, are genetics really that important? Is it racist to appropriate someone's culture?
With all the attention her story garnered, I still can't believe that Jess Row and his novel Your Face in Mine didn't somehow leap to the fore of the media storm. Why? Okay, I deliberately postponed making the connection. Row wrote a novel that one would think would have been written immediately after the Dolezal 'scandal'. Instead, he wrote a novel about a white, Jewish man who, after a childhood and adolescence of 'racial dysphoria' seeks out the medical treatments necessary to become an African American man.
Now this book could have been nothing but a story revolving around the gimmick of adopting another racial identity. But there really isn't anything gimmicky about the book. Row's novel is serious, just as his character, Martin, is serious about the idea that he was basically born in the wrong body. It's a serious literary look at identity, at who we are and what we choose to be.
Martin, a stalwart capitalist, sees choice as the new frontier of identity. Now that medicine (in the novel) has unlocked the process by which we can become what we believe we are, a huge new market awaits. As part of his marketing strategy, Martin hires Kelly, the one connection to his past identity, to be his putative biographer and tell his story of disconnection, discovery, and transformation.
Kelly, weighed down by his own personal story of loss, is himself a man of complicated identity. A fluent Mandarin speaker with a now dead Chinese wife and child, he is adrift and alone. It's partly testament to Row's writing, that I didn't connect Kelly's experience to the idea of identity at all for at least half the novel. He is, at first, just a very sad man trying to create some kind of forward momentum for his life. As things unfold, however, Row begins to show how a sense of belonging is as much a part of identity (racial or otherwise) as anything else.
Like I said, it's a good book. I'm glad it didn't become popular because of Rachel Dolezal, but I am surprised that it didn't get more attention. After all, Row actually took the time to write a thoughtful novel that examines not only the concept of racial identity but what it means to all of us to be part of something larger than us. And he did it all before Rachel Dolezal's story broke.
I can't help but wonder if she has read it.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Out of my element at Lordco
To begin this post, let me say that I am a reasonably competent and intelligent person. I have been successful at most things I have tried. When I have found skills or tasks difficult, I have generally put in the time and effort to figure out how to do them passably well. Some of those things were quite difficult. Most of my colleagues in my career have considered me to be good at the things I do.
That said, there are some ENORMOUS gaps in my skills. If the zombie apocalypse occurred, I doubt I would be anyone's first pick to join their community of survival refugees. I might be in demand if people wanted a good conversationalist or a good storyteller. After all, I am well read and can talk about everything from literature to government and from current ideas in science to innovative agricultural techniques for our climate changing world. I'm not completely helpless either. I love solo camping and can take care of myself reasonably well out in the wilderness.
But ask me to repair your water pump and I won't really be able to help you. Change the oil on your car? Sorry. Catch your fish, gut it and clean it? Give me a manual and I might be able to figure it out, but otherwise we would all go hungry.
So it was with great trepidation that I walked into Lordco, an auto parts store in Osoyoos last week. To be honest, even the name scared the hell out of me. LORDco? The name has nothing to do with religion (just a combination of the two founders' last names), but it just conjures up this incredibly intimidating image of hardcore Christians quizzing me about things like fuel injectors and venial sins. Talk about being out of one's element.
We were driving back from the Okanagan and had just left when we realised that the windshield wiper blade was broken. It was a drizzling, grey day and we would be driving through some areas that could get snow, so we stopped in Osoyoos to pick up a wiper blade. At first I was insistent that I could just drive back with one (since the broken blade was on the passenger side), but humiliation was trumped by my desire to get us back home safely. As soon as I parked, I braced myself for a humbling experience.
For someone like me, walking into an auto parts store is akin to taking a trip to another country. If there were passport checks, I am pretty sure they wouldn't let me in. I know more or less what everything is, but I don't know what to do with any of it. I said (out loud), "Brace yourself for a humiliating experience." I took a quick pass through the store and, not finding the wiper blades, went up to the cash register. There was an older woman wearing a witch's hat, but she was busy so a young woman called us over. Damn.
Just to establish the situation clearly, I said, "I am probably your most ignorant customer, but I need wiper blades." She looked at me completely stone faced and then asked, "What size?" Exactly what I had been dreading.
"Umm, I don't know. Do they go by make and model of the car or something?"
"No."
Okay, now I was stuck and kind of just stood there going 'hmmm' with a sheepish smile on my face. For some reason she suddenly softened and took us over to the wiper blades and helped me choose a pair. Maybe she remembered that time in elementary school when she had trouble figuring out how to solve a math problem, and the teacher helped her through it...whatever it was, she went from incredulous at my stupidity to quite helpful. I had the broken blade so we could quickly determine the size, but the connection was now the problem. I had no idea. I meekly asked if she could take a look at the car, but she said she wasn't really allowed to do that (which I can understand). She seemed to be taking pity on my stupidity and led us to the cash register saying that if they didn't work, we could return them. We walked out with me mumbling, "God, I hope that was the hardest part."
It wasn't.
After I paid I moved the car to the centre of the parking lot where no one from the store could hope to see me fiddling around with the wipers. I like to try and fail in private. In fact, I don't mind trying and failing repeatedly as long as I don't have an audience for it. The package had no written directions. Instead it was the diagrams intended I suppose to be 'universal'. The problem with these 'universal' directions is that there is no 'if this happens, do this' kind of thing. Universal directions basically suck. For everyone in the universe.
Anyway, the directions showed the blade and a little connector that came in a small box inside the main packaging. In the diagrams, it showed (or at least it seemed to) the connector fitting inside the wiper blade and then the hook of the windshield wiper arm (the part actually permanently attached to the car that moves back and forth) fitting into that connector. I fiddled and fiddled and came to the conclusion that the hook from the wiper arm did not fit into the connector. It was too wide.
This meant another humiliating trip into the store. If we hadn't had a 5 hour drive ahead of us, I probably would have spent at least an hour in the lot trying to figure it out on my own. As it was, I walked back in wiper blades in hand. The same young woman was waiting for us. I started with, "Your most incompetent customer of the day is back." This self-deprecating but true opener was meant to soften her up and make her sympathetic, but I got absolutely no reaction. I explained how the blades didn't fit. In my mind, she was looking at me vaguely sympathetically but thinking, 'What kind of idiot can't change wiper blades?'
She was willing to take the blades back but didn't seem to really know what to do with me. "Let me get my manager. Hold on a second."
He came out a moment later and asked me to describe the problem. He asked me if the 'j-hook' didn't just slip into the wiper. In my defence, this is an important illustrative moment. I knew instinctively what the j-hook was (so I'm not totally incompetent - only partly so); I just could not get the j-hook into the connector. Thanks to the gods of Lordco, he offered to take a look (thank you!!!) and came out with me.
As you might guess from the situation - especially if you have ever installed a wiper blade - it took him all of three seconds. What was the great mystery that had eluded me for fifteen full minutes? I didn't need the connector. The 'universal' directions had misled me. In the case of our car, the blade attached directly to the wiper arm. Vaguely humiliated but very appreciative, I thanked the manager profusely and the woman from the register. Though she could have massaged my ego a bit more, she was helpful.
As it happened, there was no rain or snow for the rest of the drive. In fact, we ended up driving through a gorgeous sun-filled fall day. I saved that second wiper blade change until today. I had some time and, most importantly, some privacy and went outside to examine the car. I took a look at the recently replaced blade, examined how it fit, went over to the driver side and quickly removed the old blade. A few minutes of wiggling and another glance at the new blade and how it fit, and it was done. No problems.
So you see, I may not be the kind of person you need in a zombie apocalypse, but I'm not a complete idiot.
That said, there are some ENORMOUS gaps in my skills. If the zombie apocalypse occurred, I doubt I would be anyone's first pick to join their community of survival refugees. I might be in demand if people wanted a good conversationalist or a good storyteller. After all, I am well read and can talk about everything from literature to government and from current ideas in science to innovative agricultural techniques for our climate changing world. I'm not completely helpless either. I love solo camping and can take care of myself reasonably well out in the wilderness.
But ask me to repair your water pump and I won't really be able to help you. Change the oil on your car? Sorry. Catch your fish, gut it and clean it? Give me a manual and I might be able to figure it out, but otherwise we would all go hungry.
So it was with great trepidation that I walked into Lordco, an auto parts store in Osoyoos last week. To be honest, even the name scared the hell out of me. LORDco? The name has nothing to do with religion (just a combination of the two founders' last names), but it just conjures up this incredibly intimidating image of hardcore Christians quizzing me about things like fuel injectors and venial sins. Talk about being out of one's element.
We were driving back from the Okanagan and had just left when we realised that the windshield wiper blade was broken. It was a drizzling, grey day and we would be driving through some areas that could get snow, so we stopped in Osoyoos to pick up a wiper blade. At first I was insistent that I could just drive back with one (since the broken blade was on the passenger side), but humiliation was trumped by my desire to get us back home safely. As soon as I parked, I braced myself for a humbling experience.
 |
| My nemesis |
For someone like me, walking into an auto parts store is akin to taking a trip to another country. If there were passport checks, I am pretty sure they wouldn't let me in. I know more or less what everything is, but I don't know what to do with any of it. I said (out loud), "Brace yourself for a humiliating experience." I took a quick pass through the store and, not finding the wiper blades, went up to the cash register. There was an older woman wearing a witch's hat, but she was busy so a young woman called us over. Damn.
Just to establish the situation clearly, I said, "I am probably your most ignorant customer, but I need wiper blades." She looked at me completely stone faced and then asked, "What size?" Exactly what I had been dreading.
"Umm, I don't know. Do they go by make and model of the car or something?"
"No."
Okay, now I was stuck and kind of just stood there going 'hmmm' with a sheepish smile on my face. For some reason she suddenly softened and took us over to the wiper blades and helped me choose a pair. Maybe she remembered that time in elementary school when she had trouble figuring out how to solve a math problem, and the teacher helped her through it...whatever it was, she went from incredulous at my stupidity to quite helpful. I had the broken blade so we could quickly determine the size, but the connection was now the problem. I had no idea. I meekly asked if she could take a look at the car, but she said she wasn't really allowed to do that (which I can understand). She seemed to be taking pity on my stupidity and led us to the cash register saying that if they didn't work, we could return them. We walked out with me mumbling, "God, I hope that was the hardest part."
It wasn't.
After I paid I moved the car to the centre of the parking lot where no one from the store could hope to see me fiddling around with the wipers. I like to try and fail in private. In fact, I don't mind trying and failing repeatedly as long as I don't have an audience for it. The package had no written directions. Instead it was the diagrams intended I suppose to be 'universal'. The problem with these 'universal' directions is that there is no 'if this happens, do this' kind of thing. Universal directions basically suck. For everyone in the universe.
Anyway, the directions showed the blade and a little connector that came in a small box inside the main packaging. In the diagrams, it showed (or at least it seemed to) the connector fitting inside the wiper blade and then the hook of the windshield wiper arm (the part actually permanently attached to the car that moves back and forth) fitting into that connector. I fiddled and fiddled and came to the conclusion that the hook from the wiper arm did not fit into the connector. It was too wide.
This meant another humiliating trip into the store. If we hadn't had a 5 hour drive ahead of us, I probably would have spent at least an hour in the lot trying to figure it out on my own. As it was, I walked back in wiper blades in hand. The same young woman was waiting for us. I started with, "Your most incompetent customer of the day is back." This self-deprecating but true opener was meant to soften her up and make her sympathetic, but I got absolutely no reaction. I explained how the blades didn't fit. In my mind, she was looking at me vaguely sympathetically but thinking, 'What kind of idiot can't change wiper blades?'
She was willing to take the blades back but didn't seem to really know what to do with me. "Let me get my manager. Hold on a second."
He came out a moment later and asked me to describe the problem. He asked me if the 'j-hook' didn't just slip into the wiper. In my defence, this is an important illustrative moment. I knew instinctively what the j-hook was (so I'm not totally incompetent - only partly so); I just could not get the j-hook into the connector. Thanks to the gods of Lordco, he offered to take a look (thank you!!!) and came out with me.
As you might guess from the situation - especially if you have ever installed a wiper blade - it took him all of three seconds. What was the great mystery that had eluded me for fifteen full minutes? I didn't need the connector. The 'universal' directions had misled me. In the case of our car, the blade attached directly to the wiper arm. Vaguely humiliated but very appreciative, I thanked the manager profusely and the woman from the register. Though she could have massaged my ego a bit more, she was helpful.
As it happened, there was no rain or snow for the rest of the drive. In fact, we ended up driving through a gorgeous sun-filled fall day. I saved that second wiper blade change until today. I had some time and, most importantly, some privacy and went outside to examine the car. I took a look at the recently replaced blade, examined how it fit, went over to the driver side and quickly removed the old blade. A few minutes of wiggling and another glance at the new blade and how it fit, and it was done. No problems.
So you see, I may not be the kind of person you need in a zombie apocalypse, but I'm not a complete idiot.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Elite Restaurant
If you are in Penticton, head downtown to check out Elite. If I lived there, I'd go all the time.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
I am still in awe
I am still recovering from Election42/Election2015...I can't say it was my dream come true, but it's way better than I imagined. I am immensely relieved - there is no other word for it.
I am also proud that voter turnout reached 68%; 17 million people voted, and it made a huge difference. Thanks, Canada. Life on theBside is looking brighter.
I am also proud that voter turnout reached 68%; 17 million people voted, and it made a huge difference. Thanks, Canada. Life on theBside is looking brighter.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Conversations Curly-Haired People Have
D: Did you get a haircut?
Me: No, it’s just wet.
D: So as it dries it gains volume?
Me: You could say that…, or you could just say it gets messier.
D: Hmmm.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Election Reminders to My Dear Fellow Canadians
My dear fellow Canadians,
One of the most important elections in our history is on Monday. Please remember the following things...
One of the most important elections in our history is on Monday. Please remember the following things...
- This is our chance to change the direction of our country and get rid of Stephen Harper.
- If you are not registered, you can still vote. You can register and vote at the polls.
- You don't need a voting card!!
- You do need ID that proves your address. This could be one thing (like a driver's licence) or two things like a credit card AND a bank statement or prescription. Elections Canada will help you with that at their website or by calling 1.800.463.6868.
- You cannot vote wherever you want. Go to elections.ca to find your polling place. This is one of the hardest parts of our electoral system.
- If the system does not give you your polling place, it's not a conspiracy. It means that the database just didn't match your postal code properly (very common when new buildings are going up all the time in big cities and new postal codes are being created as result).
- If the system does not give you your polling place, call Elections Canada at 1.800.463.6868. They will help you figure out where to vote.
- The election is more important than the Blue Jays game. Yes, it really is.
Finally, please remember that Elections Canada workers are bound by the Elections Act (passed by the Harper government). They have no interest in making it harder for you to vote (and most are likely quite passionate in wanting you to vote), but they are limited by the law.
If you are wondering about that, just remember that Elections Canada is no longer allowed to promote voting.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Is My Spam Folder Telling Me That I'm Getting Old?
Like most people, I get spam emails. Like most people, I have a vague idea how spam works. Someone, somewhere sold my email address to some spam service and they then passed it on to countless others who then send me permutations of the same emails. Over the years, there have been some common themes in the spam receive. These include:
- Porn - I'm not sure why this happens. Neither of us watches porn or visits porn sites. Really. I've seen it before, don't get me wrong, but I'm not a viewer. I have some personal objections to it and also find it quite boring. It's something like watching Gilligan's Island; it's essentially the same episode each time. I can imagine Dante today working porn into one of his circles of hell.
- Gambling - Again, I'm not sure why this one happens either as neither of us gambles. I've been to some big casinos and gambling cities, but the most I have done is risked $10 worth of quarters on the slot machines. And that was after I turned 35 and had a real career.
- Scams - These seem to have died down a bit, but I still get them occasionally. Someone somewhere promises to share huge piles of money with me if I will just help them do something or other. If I am just greedy enough, I can get suckered.
- Erectile dysfunction - This is a popular one. I believe that one started just after Viagra hit the market. Some of these have great subject lines. 'Hard wood' always makes me laugh.
- Canadian pharmacies - Ironically I still get these even though I now live in Canada. Apparently Canadian pharmacies have all kinds of drugs to sell super cheap.
But recently I started getting a new type of spam, and it made me worry. Now, I seem to be getting all these messages about 20/20 vision and ditching my glasses forever. To be honest, I find it kind of offensive. Is my spam folder telling me that I am somehow to old for all those vices I don't indulge in?
Since, I'm not buying Viagra, does that mean I'm too old to get it up while not watching porn?
Am I so worried about my fixed income retirement that I wouldn't blow it all on a crazy gambling site?
Do I not want to buy prescription grade pharmaceuticals to abuse because I just want to go to bed early?
Do they think I'm so old and blind that I can't read the offers of easy riches from Nigeria?
What is this world coming to?
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