Farewell, Grandin.

You've always been the soft spot in my heart, from the first time we came to sit in your gazebo, one late night eating watermelon and pizza and driving around until we found you, us unknowing young suburbanites. then it was all through university, where I would park at the mezzanine, second floor, and walk down through the park and house lined street, through the gazebo in the park and across the highlevel to be at the foot of humanities. every morning and every night, for four years, at best. and worse. meeting up with friends in your park, where neither of us lived, to start our sojourn across the city. then, moving in, at last, calling grandin home, with the light filtering through your large aged elms and a certain beauty in your street scape. trolley train running past underneath my windowpanes as well as 109 St brouhaha. living close to martini's and zuppa's was charming for a while, late night/early morning stumbles were easy, but maybe not altogether necessary. the petite elderly woman behind the tailor's desk never did warm up either. fire alarms in the building, awkward elevator rides, and creepers left and right have soured my feelings for you, grandin. in time, I will of course meet up again in your park in your gazebo. see that light again through your elms early in the morning and just before evening. but for now, I bid adieu and farewell, grandin.

an early darkness

I've joined the ranks of the 8 - 4:30, waking at 6 every morning and getting home by 5 in the evening. I leave on foot in complete darkness and I return on foot in darkness. I normally take the sidestreets, but going up to Jasper to mail a letter, I was too distracted by the thickness of traffic zipping in every single direction to be annoyed that the post offices weren't even open until 8am.

I remember briefly walking around one summer at 7am, whether it was at the beginning or the end of a very long day, I no longer remember, but I recall thinking how busy and alive the city felt. Constant traffic, people waiting in crowds at corners, and line ups forming at coffee shops.

Deciding to walk right down Jasper from 112 to 124 St, it was a completely different city. I could only imagine if more stores and restaurants were open and other people were walking back and forth enjoying themselves. A lot of pedestrians truck it along in the mornings, whether to the bus stop or getting a jump on daily errands, but where are do these people go at night? It's a question I've been asking myself for over ten years, and though the idea of a night life in downtown Edmonton is now fathomable, maybe I should just resign myself to the fact that it's just not that kind of town. Morning life north of the river, Night life south of the river. Just like it always was, I suppose.

I am seeing the tremendous morning life of downtown Edmonton as the healthier of two concepts.
time to just put on the ol' cardigan and stay in the for the night.

A Dog Park afternoon(s)

I once railed against the grid system of city planning and favoured a free-for all trek that can only seemingly be found in fields, gravel parking lots, and dog parks. but as winter time comes, we can see the tready footmarks and paths and naturally fall into the line (and prints) of those before us.

that argument never led anywhere, but maybe it's about why you're walking and what you're doing -- and not where you're going -- that has to be reconsidered. that's a primary rule, but how we walk through the environment is relatively new territory.

the laurier dog park, which connects up to valleyview and down to hawrelak, was a favorite path of mine years ago. I always had a dog, but that's another point. walking around the park with friends, whether as a shortcut or just to span time, was a favorite route of mine. once clamouring down to the river, I don't remember why we went down, but I do remember being right up to the rushing of the river, which has never seemed so big (even counting when I've paddled down that sucker). the park consists of a large open field that leads to various forks and paths that lead you around to where you started or across the river if you'd really wanted. walking around with Nutters and Manitoba (owner and dog, respectively), you saw more people than you would on city streets. nice view, cloistered down in the valley, the pace of dog park walking neither begets sidewalk rage or disdain. lots of eye contact, stopping and chatting, even if Manitoba is a menace, with no clear direction of where you must walk, the atmosphere is to enjoy.

getting back on the sidewalk, with Manitoba in tow, pedestrians leapt out of the way with scrunched up faces and little pad-coated dogs cowered in fear.

I still favour the free-for all trek over the city grid, but maybe only those I meet in gravel parking lots and empty fields will agree with me on this. someone told me that how you spend the first day of the new year reflects how the rest of the year goes, and I knew I wanted to go for a walk. of course, we must still drive to the park, which I still think is hilarious, but with the choice of walking through grey-lit downtown or driving and then walking through the glistening white (and splotchy yellow) dog park, I have chosen the latter for this year.

Eastwood / 118 Ave

The Grand Bazaar, a haven of craftsters and local designers over a weekend of pre-holiday non commercialized frenzy, recently went down on 118 Ave. a change of venue, a lost of venue, cancelling of the party, cancelling of bands, squeezing forty vendors into a tiny community hall hall space, and three days of labour later, the team cleared just enough cash to take us out to BP's for cactus fries. uh huh.

We had to ask 'why' we did this in the first place, for the love of community? because no one else was doing it? because most of the artists and vendors have now moved into the area and this was only a test of things to come? the 118 area may or may not be municipally revitalized, but as far as I'm concerned, a large majority of the good folks are moving up and setting down roots. I myself am looking to move, found a cute little house, but the bank has other thoughts about that . .

whether there's a blackout on the area or whether simply I am just not a suitable candidate for a mortgage, the area is the only ideal place in town where I can buy a home. it looks like it's either Eastwood or Winnipeg. play ball?

Heading up to Morinville

This is a bit late, but a month back, ACD and co. and I took a mini road trip in la rouge wagon out to Morinville to visit our friend Daniel and co. A man about town, D moved back to Morinville and bought a beautiful house across from DJ's Pub. "If you get lost, just ask anyone where DJ's is." It's hard to imagine anyone can get lost, though.



Sandy cooked a great big dinner of salmon, salad, and couscous, and D had an array of stinky cheeses, gyspy salami and vino. Well-fed, we danced the rest of the night away. At times, it resembled more of a child's birthday party, but one that was hijacked by adults stuck in the past with an insatiable demand for cheesy music.





It was a nice little visit, having never visited Morinville. D seems enamoured with small town life and its pecularities. He's filled several albums full of pictures of misnomers and other oddities, and I had a passing thought of moving out somewhere quiet and assuming, but looking back, this remains a passing thought.



but good times nonetheless.

etiquette for the aisles

seeing back-to-back lectures on architecture and photography, two of the most fascinating topics, in my thoughts, I am saddened to say the only lasting impression I take away is this: how do we rid the format of the excrutiatingly demented obligatory post-lecture Q&A?

with all the hoopla around architecture and "design" in edmonton, the opportunity, the rarity, of asking someone like antoine predock a question could and maybe would have been exciting. asking predock (twice) to comment on what he thinks about our upgrades was a nice exercise in imagining our city's plans for architecture has any effect whatsoever on anyone, especially this year's AIA gold medal winner, but at least it was civil enough.

tonight, however, I feel honestly embarassed. visiting lecturer martha langford got a good dose of crazy when an interruptive audience member continuously barged her comments in throughout the talk and in the end, compared Langford's comments to Nazism. but what was worse, and it did get worse, was that this audience member tried to say it in a nazi german accent and being completely serious about it.

lecture etiquette rule #1: do not impersonate a nazi.
lecture etiquette rule #2: do not call the lecturer a nazi (even if it's within the context of digital photography.)

it's safe to say all Q&A's I have ever encountered have been bad, bad experiences. this time, I attended the langford lecture with MCO, the former arts writer for SEE and now my faux nemesis at VUE. we each appropriately wore black and white similiar long pea coats and cackled like harpies afterwards, but as two very different writers writing on the same subject, I wonder if we both miss the mark.

MCO reviews art from a very astute and intellectually provocative voice; I only explain (not reivew) exhibitions and make them safely appealing. both are done to engage a dialogue, but who are we talking with? to someone who only attended this past lecture, it would be crystal clear why 'art' remains on the periphery. I really wonder at the end of the day, or at the end of that circus, what can really be done when people are only listening to themselves. this is why I hate art, when the opportunity for dialogue turns into a one voice statement of complete and utterly drry bullshit.

manufactured landscapes

ted and I met up to go see Manufactured Landscapes at the Garneau on Mon. we're both into Edward Burtynsky; Ted with his recent AIR at Shell Chemicals and me just into whatever (but I did go see his lecture this time last year and was duly impressed with his grandeur.) I can't say the same for the doc. The opening shot, one continuous track spanning the space of one factory, was exciting. space over time. no zooms, a few slight pans, just a medium shot gliding across, maybe forever it seemed. the rest of the doc fell into a recording of his lecture, some lame conceptual reachings, and an underlying conflict between the director and the photographer. is this about the artist, his subject, or as it would appear, neither.

the highlight of evening was certainly running into Kyla and co, swarming a row of seats and heading (skating) over to Remedy after. too loud, it was, but some good brainstorming occured. oh, and the bag of shreddies, and cornuts, with glosette raisins, plus popcorn. yeah.

in an industrial province, the beauty of modern man's thumbprint on nature has now been highly aestheticized for us to think about, but it's so pretty. distant. it's hard to think. a problem. a problem of art a problem is art.

"but my car is my toque"

the cold is here and it is relentless. walking two blocks up to martini's suddenly became the march of death through siberia. "what are you waiting for, gary?" there was no part of skin, exposed or not, that didn't sting in every pore.

reading the paper this morning, a transient man and a transient woman were found dead in a converted school bus-turn-home. No one knows for exactly how long they've been dead, maybe three weeks one person thinks. their completely frozen bodies may or may not have died from carbon monoxide poisioning, but their bodies were found huddled by a propane heater.

since the cold started again, I have seen a lot of transient individuals finding shelter, sleeping in apartment doorways and down in the LRT (on the way back from martini's, we ducked into the station for the two block walk). going from heated garage to heated garage, I know how easy it is to forget how bloody cold it actually is out there. walking hardly becomes an option, but imagine living out there. shelters are filled beyond capacity again and that only accomodates so many. if steel motor engines are giving out on the side of the road, think of what the warm human body is going through.

getting in on this ipod culture (or walkman if you remember them)

"Watch Out Where Yer Going!"

so I'm trying to reconcile the action of walking and listening to music. as someone who absolutely loves driving around to tunes, not just any ol' radio tunes or albums, but specially crafted mixes for specially conceived journeys--including aimless wanderings of the motorized kind.

you've heard it all before, the drifting landscape somehow finding syncopation with with the tunes blasting out of your scratchy over-trebled speakers . . . blah blah blah. I do love it, but walking and listening? I hate it. Puts me completely off kilter to each step I take, like I'm moving out of time. plus, it makes me more unaware of all the bad drivers around in this hopelessly pedestrian-unfriendly city.

Taking a walk usually clears my head, gets me thinking, but that little joy vanishes if I put on headphones. Come to think of it, I've never worn headphones unless I was completely still. Sitting, lying in the middle of my floor, getting to know a record or just content to be alone. Ah, but maybe I just like listening to the city noise, never crazy busy, but always loud on account of there being no big buildings around to absorb the noise. it's quiet except for my own shuffle steps and the odd angry driver, and I prefer it that way.

sandwiches for everyone

went to the new southside ital centre with the intent of buying and eating their deliciously processed italian sandwiches. 7 dollars for a gigantic meaty sandwich. I gave a quarter to sarah p and carly gave a quarter to the other sarah p (the shorter one) and like wolves, we downed our 'wiches in no time. poor fools we were! not picking up any orangina, that delicate balance of calcium/vitamin c fighting against the sodium nitrate, c and I were pretty hurtin' at hair of the dog. the performance may have sent me walking out, but it was the sandwich and beer that sent me napping.

that was saturday.

on thursday, explored the portugese bakeries on 118 for sandwiches. had not one, but two very similiar meat sandwiches on a crusty bun. first one was roast beef that was most unsatisfactory. typical and not exceptional in any way. 3.50. the next one on the corner of 93 was far better in its capicollo offerings. 3.50 as well. they must be aware. consumed within 15 minutes of each other, the 7 dollar battle goes to saturday for knocking me flat on my ass whereas thursday was mild discomfort.

and then there was of course tuesday, vietmanese sandwiches w/ tishkoff in a record shop. the tunes were bobby d and the flavour was mouth-on-fire hot. what is it about sandwiches that makes them so fantastic? earl sandwich, I salute you time and time again.

Walking In The City - Inaugaral Step

Tracking, literally, the steps of this small town and a half-turn-city of Edmonton, recording encounters with people, places, and objects. Not significant ones, at least not all the time, but hopefully sometimes.