Photo Essay: Rail Yards

In the past year I've taken a couple of thousand shots of tags both large and small around the city, focusing on those that are unique or poignant. In the past six weeks my work has taken me to the rail yards between Terminal Avenue and Great Northern Way in Vancouver, and while there I've had the chance to photograph these.

They don't resemble anything I've ever seen produced locally, even among the fine examples in the Grandview cut between Commercial and Clark Drives or in a similar rail cut beside Granville Island. I can only assume they are the work of writers in Toronto and Montreal. Plus, I like the unifying element of the box cars. Below are seven of my favourites.














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RIP Kitty Carlisle Hart

The arts community has lost a tireless advocate in Kitty Carlisle Hart, who died yesterday of pneumonia.

She attained the height of her fame from appearances on "To Tell The Truth" between 1956 and 2002, but also appeared on stage and screen; as recently as earlier this year she performed a cabaret act at Feinstein's at the Regency.
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Ghost Town Haunts New South Wales

Until recently, the biggest tourist attraction in Adaminaby was the Big Trout (pictured).

In 1957 the government of Australia moved the entire town of Adaminaby in New South Wales and drowned the old townsite in a hydroelectric project. End of story... Or is it?

Fast forward 50 years, and suddenly the old town begins to reappear. Spooky!

I don't know why this story caught my eye like it did; maybe it's the Australian angle, the historical poignancy, or the global warming parable. That or it's a slow news day.

[S O U R C E]
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A Shining Star

I actually took this picture a few weeks ago, and was saving if for a day like this, when anything else I might care to write seems frivolous and empty.

I've lived in Vancouver almost nine years now, so long that I don't even get allergies in the spring any more, and I've never seen a sea star within city limits. I'd never seen a purple one before, either. This day I was walking along False Creek and happened to see a dozen of these purple ones and a half a dozen of the more common orange ones in a sheltered piece of foreshore near a marina.

When I lived here before, in 1990, False Creek was so dirty you wouldn't have seen this. First, the animal wouldn't have been there, and secondly, if it had it wouldn't have been visible as deep as this one was, about a metre down. I didn't even need a polarizing filter to capture this one, the water was that clear.

It's easy to say that things are dirtier and more violent and in every way worse today than they've ever been, but now I don't know. To give myself a little perspective, I was reading about an even worse school attack than the one at Virginia Tech which took place in Bath, Michigan in 1927, in which a man dynamited a school and killed 45 people, most of them children.

Talk about your good old days.
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Books Wormed - Pete Hamill's "Downtown" and "Five Points" by Tyler Anbinder

Despite having so little time for anything else lately (like sleeping or eating) I've actually been doing quite a bit of reading. So much so that I finished two books in one day. Feeling quite virtuous, I then proceeded to get carried away, and read an entire issue of The New Yorker, a six-week-old copy of the Georgia Straight that I'd already read six weeks ago, and the instruction manual for a fire extinguisher.

Never let it be said that Daddy doesn't like him some readin'.

The first book I finished was actually brought to my attention by James Mullin, my book enabler, er, dealer. Seller! My book seller... When he handed me this one I snatched it away from him so fast there was a concern he might need a blood transfusion to help him recover from the paper cuts.

Ah, Manhattan... Or as I like to call it "The Holy Land". Mr. Hamill gets it just right, or at least I assume he does. I've never been to New York, but reading this one made me want to go even more, if such a thing is possible. By turns elegiac, puissant, and erudite, "Downtown" is everything a travel book should be, including written by someone who knows what they're talking about because they've lived there forever, without being as needlessly sesquipedalian as I can be.

I loved how he took well-known places, set them in a particular 20th century context, then finished them with some frisson of personal yet utterly relatable anecdote. More than a travel book, it's a time travel book. Not only did it make me want to go there, it made me want to go there 20 years before I was born.

Plus it reads like poetry crossed with chocolate. At 280 pages, I wanted it to go on and on...

Covering roughly the same territory (geographically, at least), albeit 150 years previous, is the thick and juicy "Five Points" by Tyler Anbinder. I love nothing better than wrapping my hands around a great big history book, especially one which throbs with insight and pulses with life. Fortunately, I'm not one to sublimate, nor would I dream of exaggerating. Not in a million years.

Having previously read (and adored) "The Gangs of New York", Professor Anbinder's take is still thrilling, despite all the accuracy which, sadly, is lacking in Herbert Asbury's landmark 1928 publication. Twice as long as "Downtown" I was so enthralled by "Five Points" I read all the end notes and the index. Where Hamill's book is a rich, fulfilling dessert, Anbinder's is a steak.

To any student of conurbation, such as myself, New York City is the ultimate paradise on Earth. Although London is a close second - the cradle of the modern world, if you will - Manhattan is it's playpen, the nexus of everything, a gleaming pinnacle... I'd say more, but I'm afraid if my reverie rises above a certain Woody Allen-esque pitch Mr. Gagne dials up Bitch-Slap-o-Gram, and the next thing I know there's a knock at my door and a eight-foot tranny with a delivery for me.

So yeah, y'know, read 'em, don't read 'em... Whatever.
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Editorial Policy Clarified

As a glib, snarky publication (GSP) the Pop Culture Institute has a definite role to perform in the larger media. Namely, to be glib and snarky, guh! There are thoughtful publications, there are sleazy publications, and there is everything in between; all are invaluable for filling the niche they do.

There are stories I'm following that it's otherwise impossible for me to cover without seeming insensitive, to whit: the Virginia Tech shooting. From the Ecole Polytechnic killings of 1989 through the Columbine killings of 1999 to the Dawson College killings last year and now this, I have always been appalled that places of learning should ever be terrorized in this way.

Obviously, it is my opinion that if you are going to go on a killing spree only to then commit suicide you should by all means go first. You are obviously a selfish person, so why choose this crucial time to share? This, of course, is merely a reaction to a tragedy; in the fullness of time, I know I'll find myself trying to understand and forgive this monster.

Once CNN and their ilk start trotting out the killer's friends and family, and they start crying all over the place, that's when my mushy little heart will start to bleed. Years from now, when it's proven that he did it because of too many trans fats or antidepressants or whatever excuse they can find in place of a reason, we'll already have moved on to the next thing.

And if it turns out the reason he did this was because he was bullied, forget it. You might as well wave a pork chop at a rabid weasel, because I will lose it. I've been bullied my whole life; I have not gone on any shooting spree, nor will I. Instead, I started a GSP.

Killing a bully makes a bully a martyr and a martyr is a hero; the only real revenge is to overcome the bullying and instead find it in yourself to mock the bullies incessantly. That said, I'd better stop now. Knowing myself as I do, I've already said something I'll come to regret. My thoughts go out to Virginia Tech today, as I go to work at a vast campus and hope...
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It's Good To Be King

Swaziland, the smallest country in Africa, is entirely landlocked, squeezed between South Africa and Mozambique. Wealthy by African standards it is nevertheless one of the poorest countries in the world, ravaged by drought and AIDS. Swaziland has the lowest life expectancy in the world, at just over 33 years.

To any student of royalty (such as myself) though, the example of Swaziland, not to mention the story of Mswati III, ranks as truly exceptional.

The Swazi royal family, of which the king is the head, rule by decree, making Mswati III the last absolute monarch in Africa. Despite this, the Queen Mother (the Indlovukazi, or Great She-Elephant) wields extraordinary power as a sort of spiritual figurehead. The rules of succession are fascinating; I must have read the Wikipedia entry ten times, and I'm still shaking my head.

He is one of 210 sons by his father Sobhuza II, who had 70 wives and over a thousand grandchildren at the time of his death, from pneumonia, in 1982. There followed a period of regency; Mswati ascended the throne in 1986.

King Mswati has recently married his 13th wife, Phindile Nkambule, despite the controversy surrounding their courtship. A couple of years ago he passed a law to combat the spread of AIDS by forbidding persons under the age of 18 to have sex, then promptly became engaged to the then 17-year-old Phindile. That they met at the Reed Dance, a ceremony in which the young girls of the nation honour the Indlovukazi rankled some, especially she wasn't the first of his brides so chosen.

The King's lavish lifestyle has also drawn fire; he commands a fleet of limousines, and spends a fortune outfitting lavish mansions for his growing coterie of wives. Otherwise he seems to be drawing the country toward constitutionality, or at least as much as is possible under an absolute monarch of a nation still essentially tribal in nature. There is little press freedom, but neither are there clampdowns such as those seen in Zimbabwe, for example.

[S O U R C E]
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RIP Pat Buckley

For a socialite and fashion plate, prominent in her sphere for over forty years, the Internet holds very few images of Pat Buckley.

Although I knew more about her than someone else in my situation might, I had no idea that she was Canadian, let alone that she was born in Vancouver (!), and on the former Dominion Day (now Canada Day) either. I always thought of her (when I did) as little more than the chain-smoking wife of crypto-fascist William F. Buckley and number one fag-hag of Truman Capote.

The last I read about her was in Vanity Fair a couple years back, and when I went to find the specific article in question my stacks threatened to collapse on me, so I let it be.

It's enough to know that she was chair of the Costume Institute for nearly twenty years and worked (or, if you prefer, "worked") on behalf of AIDS, cancer, and Vietnam veterans charities.
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Mario Dumont's First Act

When the Action Democratique du Quebec (ADQ) party did so well in the recent Quebec provincial election, there were those in the media who were stymied. Who was this young guy? What does his party stand for? And what effect would his party exert over the Liberals led by Jean Charest?

Well Dumont's first salvo is to suggest that Quebec sign the Constitution, which it did not do in 1982. And what better time for such a ceremony than during Quebec's 400th anniversary in 2008, at which the Queen would be the guest of honour?

This is almost too good to be true. There was a famous image from that time, of the Queen scowling at Prime Minister Trudeau; she was said to be miffed at him for signing such a document without Quebec. May she live long enough to see that wrong righted.

[S O U R C E]
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Who's A What Now?

There are many things at play here.

1) I don't have cable. This is for the best, since if I did I'd never get anything done.

2) I usually only buy the first season (or series) of any show. I guess I managed to talk myself into thinking that one day I may actually write one of these monsters, and so I wanted to study the unique dynamics that mark first seasons (or series). There are a few exceptions to this rule (Corner Gas, Sex and The City, Friends), but not many.

3) "Entourage" is a so totally, way, hella-hetero show. It's that hot - practically porn.

4) Which is probably why I was so shocked to learn that there's a gay character on it.

5) Not only is he Asian, he's actually gay. That's him above, in case you couldn't guess. His name is Rex Lee.

6) He plays Ari's assistant Lloyd, and he doesn't appear until the second season, you see.

I love these kind of shocks.

[S O U R C E]
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Now Showing - Richard Jeni's "The Gospel According to Vinnie"

Starring the voice and comedy talents of the late, lamented Richard Jeni.
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Best Of - The Fourth Hundred Posts: Bring It On!

Another of my mottoes is: the more you know, the less you know.

Invariably, this is because somewhere along the way there comes the sickening awareness that we can never know everything there is to know. Maybe you can deal with such a realisation, but as I said, it makes me ill. I am, and have always been, a militant know-it-all, and will continue to be. If I can't know everything I'll damn sure give myself a stroke trying.

I made my 400th post on 25 March, at the time when the seasons changed. In addition to the planetary ones, I have seasons of my own, emotional ones. In the winter is when I feel most British - probably summat t'do with t' rain. In the spring and summer I am almost entirely a New Yorker. Oh, I'll still watch "Little Britain" now and then in the warm months, fugeddaboudit, but I'm just as likely to be roaming around the alleys of Vancouver taking photos of grafitti or endlessly re-watching Woody Allen films. I only really feel Canadian in the fall, the only season in which this country is uniformly beautiful, a fact enshrined upon our flag which, after all, isn't green but red.

If the first hundred posts were about getting started, the second hundred about technical innovation, and the third about the delivery of quantity, the last hundred posts have been about improving the quality of the writing. I would much rather, now that I see how quickly these posts pile up, write fewer posts better than more posts worse. Much of my self-loathing arises from my desire to always be a better person than I am, whether smarter or kinder or fitter.

Being an inveterate reader, I've managed to absorb a lot of different styles of writing in my life, and it's that diversity I'm trying to reflect now. Unless there's a miracle, this blog will never pay me to write it. I could, however, make a pretty nice living writing (and/or taking pictures) for a variety of publications out there, much of it from the comfort of this very desk. The blog, then, represents a kind of portfolio of my capabilities, and will continue to grow to reflect that.

I'd like to thank all of you who read the Pop Culture Institute, whether you're a regular commenter or a diehard lurker. I've taken you down some dark corridors here, maybe lost a few of you along the way, but I hope I've also enlightened and entertained you as well. One thing is for sure: it's been my pleasure to do it.

My favourite post of the last hundred is called "Stanley Park Sojourn". Here it is again.
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Best Of - The Third Hundred Posts: An Exercise in Repitition

Much ado was made in the third hundred posts about establishing a routine. If need be, now I can publish five posts in under two hours (On This Day, a brief essay or editorial, a Spontaneous Brunette, scrobbling, and one YouTube clip), most of which I can do in between getting ready for work and making lunch.

This represents the greatest innovation since Henry Ford designed the assembly line, since there are times when life and work seriously get in the way of this baby big time. I also began to worry about issues like readership and revenue, even though both are where they're supposed to be for a blog as young as this one. My motto is: if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.

It was in this era (10-25 March) that I first wrote and edited a post on paper then typed it in later; I did this a few times in a couple of days, so I no longer remember which one was first. Since writing the posts is by far the most labourious part of the job, the fact that I can now do some of this either while at work or in transit has eased the time crunch for me considerably.

I was also able to show multiple episodes of series like "Mr. Deity", demonstrating the ability of a blog to entertain as well as inform. A post entitled "Comment Te Dire Bonjour" first showed me the power of clinging, lamprey-like, to the underside of a more powerful blogger, in this instance Joe Jervis of Joe.My.God; to date it remains my most commented upon post (with 9).
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Best Of - The Second Hundred Posts: A Compendium

Many of the innovations that have made the Pop Culture Institute what it is occurred between post 100 on 3 February and 200 twenty days later. These include the embedding of YouTube video on the 16th. In honour of those achievements, it is my honour to repost "Shoes", by Liam Sullivan, which has been watched something like 14 million times, most of them me and my friends.

• YouTube Debut (07FEB07)

Of course, in those days, I still couldn't embed them, but I made my first upload that day. I have since upgraded the link, which I also couldn't do that day. I wouldn't learn how to do that until 11FEB07, when Seumas scratched out the instructions on an old receipt, in a single action changing not only this blog but my life.


• On This Day (07FEB07)

I've always been a history buff, and in the current political climate, nothing beats a spot of history to remind us that there's nothing new, whether it's crime, sex, or politics.


• Publishing daily (11FEB07)

The way to get a blog noticed is to produce a lot of content often, which has been my mantra ever since.

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Best Of - The First Hundred Posts: Quicksilver

(Originally posted 17 October 2006 (my 13th post), it represents the first technical breakthrough for me - namely the posting of photos. Alas, it would be many months before I learned how to make proper-sized thumbnails; I could repost this photo, but I like the way my template has cropped it, so I'm leaving it as it is. Hard to believe this was two days short of six months ago. I've certainly come a long way since.)
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500 Posts and Still Going Strong

Unlike the subject of the previous post, there is no disaster here. You may beg to differ; in fact, you're encouraged to. Just remember, no anonymous comments, and offline emails may be shared with the group. Of course, unlike those arrogant Edwardians, I'd never dare display the hubris to declare the Pop Culture Institute unsinkable either. I'm far too susperstitious.

Begun as the Pandora Institute on 20 January 2006, as a progressive think-tank with the mission to "let hope out of the box", the name and mission were later changed, but I'm unable to discover exactly when and where this occurred, though I may do so while conducting routine maintenance. I am still a passionate advocate for progress and hope, but within a wider milieu.

The 100th post was celebrated on 3 February 2007.

[100th post]

They say the first 100 posts are the hardest; if they don't they should. If they're actually not, they were in my case. I did a lot of soul-searching in that first 13 months, reading other blogs, tinkering with the tone and the range of subject matter in my own. Anyone who thinks a blog is built in a vacuum must only be reading Perez Hilton.

It turns out most of the necessary repairs were on myself. In this case (as in most), neurosis was its own reward, since by the 100th post the thing had pretty much jelled. Unlike Windows, I too had developed a more stable platform. So much so that the 200th post was achieved less than three weeks later, on 23 February.

[200th post]

The 300th post came on 10 March, following the decision made by me to try and publish a minimum of five posts per day. The entire enterprise also got more technically sophisticated during this period as well, as I gradually learned how to embed video, create thumbnails and links, and wrap text around photos. It was a steep learning curve, and feel I met the challenge.

[300th post]

On 25 March I reached 400, and by this point not only was it well underway, it began to feel damn near unstoppable.

Favourite features (On This Day, Spontaneous Brunette, Scrobbling) persist, as do features on royalty, sitcoms, and Vancouver. Others are tried and abandoned (Blog Fodder), in an effort to improve the overall mix. Though I consider myself an artist, I'm an entertainer first, and have long ago given up any charade that I'm not slavishly pandering to my readers.

[400th post]

Which brings us to today and number 500.

The road ahead will feature less drippy editorials about how much I hate myself and more shiny pictures of pretty things, as well as stories about those who've been left out of history. Having studied much about how a city like Manhattan brands itself, I will be applying these techniques to writing about Vancouver in advance of the tourist onslaught of 2010.

The next milestone to be celebrated, expected at the end of June, is the thousandth post. 600, 700, etc. will receive only tags, so I can find them when it comes time to commemorate number 1000. In the meantime, some of the archived posts may disappear altogether; others may be combined into super posts.

I'd like to begin reprinting the favourite posts of the past, as determined by me, which is not to say I wouldn't appreciate your feedback in this. In fact, many of the reprinted articles will be the ones receiving the most comments. Five such posts will appear today, as part of the celebration, in each case celebrating some pinnacle of technical or creative achievement.

Nostalgia is one of my favourite emotions, but no one could ever accuse me of being sentimental. I like to appreciate the past for what it was, not make a fetish of what I wish it could have been. In order to keep myself interested, I have to keep this interesting to myself. Also, it helps me to deal with the rut my life is in by decorating the walls of that rut in this way.

Henceforth, after the 1000th post, every hundred posts will also be designated only by tags, and a full commemoration will appear only every thousand. It is my intention to celebrate the dawn of 2008 with my 2008th post, a live-blogged party with photos, video, and surprises galore.

See you then! (Or not, as the case may be.)

michael sean morris
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Beyond Bondi Beach: The Beauty of Australia

[Australia's epic Uluru, formerly known as "Ayer's Rock".]

Being part security guard and part magpie allows me unprecedented access to discarded shiny things. One such recent find was a copy of "Australian Geographic", a magazine devoted to the natural wonders of Australia.

Where else in one magazine could I learn about the magic of Uluru, the resurgent Wollemi pine, the world's most beautiful pest (the sulphur-crested cockatoo), or pioneering aviator Nancy Bird? In print, that is.

What an amazing hour I spent devouring this handsome magazine. With many more (issues and hours) to come, I hope.

[Find out more...]
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Royal News Roundup

• WILLS AND KATE SPLIT!



• QUEEN NOT WELCOME: QUEBEC



• WILLS PAL KILLED IN IRAQ

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Michael Kluckner's "Vancouver Remembered"

May I first offer my kudos to Whitecap Books for producing this handsome volume, which is destined to take its place on an ever-widening shelf offering tribute to our fair city. As with all products I review here, I paid for this book myself; it came to $53 with tax at Chapter's on Broadway.

Within, Kluckner's glowing watercolours are interspersed with file photos, editorial cartoons, and the sort of ephemera (postcards, menus, maps) that are essential in helping a place to create its own mythology. Since Vancouver's future as a world city now seems inevitable the time, it seems, has come to begin looking back, to the past that created it.

"Vancouver Remembered" essentially (though not slavishly) covers the period 1945-1986, although many of the paintings have a more recent provenance. Most of my firsthand knowledge of the city is from the era 1986 to the present, and I only began photographing the city in earnest in 2006, which makes this volume an especially valuable resource for me. It fills in the gaps in my own knowledge from the period just before I came to know it for myself.

Since its founding, the basic tension inherent in Vancouver has been between its role as a port and its reality as a garden. In my earliest memories of the place it is always half green and half grey. These days, of course, the grey is frowned upon; after all, we get enough of that from the sky. Yet now even the green is threatened, as much by weather as by commerce.

My earliest memories of Vancouver are of a quaint, tumbledown city. Development has certainly aided in the tumbling, as much as the incessant rain and landlord apathy. Currently the Gastown/Strathcona, Southeast False Creek/Mount Pleasant and Grandview neighbourhoods are most imperilled, and I'll be doing my part to preserve them, even if only in photographs.

Vancouver turns 125 in 2011. Seeing as Manhattan was founded in 1624, and there's precious little of that city from 1749 that remains today (or did, I daresay, even then), I'd say Vancouver has done an admirable job of conservation, especially since efforts to that end never began in earnest here until the 1980s. Still, developers have been ravenous.

In the past year, I have taken many photos of places now forever lost, which makes "Vancouver Remembered II" a virtual certainty twenty years hence.




[This pair of houses at W. 7th and Fir were painted by Michael Kluckner (they appear on page 153 of "Vancouver Remembered") and photographed by me at this time last year; they've since been torn down.]
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A Spot of Gratitude - Good Neighbours

In this instance, it's for my former neighbour Steve, who lived above me for three years and never made a peep.

Steve recently moved out. Why my landlords decided to rent to a roller-skating rhinoceros is beyond me. Why she insists on juggling those bowling balls when she clearly sucks at it is also beyond me; she should stick to the tap-dancing, at which she excels.

If you have good neighbours, take this moment to thank your lucky stars you don't have plaster raining down on you like I do.
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Dream Analysis, Anyone?

I'm sitting on the ground in a certain plaza at the edge of Stanley Park, despite the fact that there are benches. It's dark, obviously the middle of the night, but not cold. Pamela Anderson and a very hot young guy who looks a bit like Mika are there, also sitting on the ground. She's ignoring him, he's ignoring me, and all three of us are apparently waiting for something, not saying much. Suddenly, what looks like a very fat ferret comes scurrying out of the undergrowth and up on my lap, where it starts to nuzzle me. Soon, he's joined by a half a dozen others, and they all start peeping. The hot young guy is staring at Pam and trying to touch her breasts, but aside from swatting him away she ignores him, as she cheerfully tells me all about these friendly animals, which she called Furbies, but which actually look like a cross between a ferret and a weasel.
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Belinda Calls It Quits

It was with a certain amount of shock that I read Belinda Stronach is leaving politics so soon after entering it. Not alot, but some.

Idealism, however, doesn't seem to have motivated her. Citing the need to spend more time with her teenaged children, she recently whined that being in opposition is still a full-time job. Well, duh! Given the government we have, everyone in opposition should be working overtime. I'm sure the corporate sector won't be such a drain on her time; plutocrats are known for their support of working mothers.

I suspect the fact that the Conservatives look poised to take the next majority played no part in her decision. Magna, the business her father runs and which she one day hopes to run, is making some moves to take over Chrysler/Daimler. Her father may be looking to step down soon, so the conclusions can be drawn not from what she says but from what she does.

Nevertheless, a couple of years in government has definitely made the Belinda brand less Newmarket and more up-market. High-profile relationships with Bill Clinton (strictly platonic - she's too pretty for him), Tie Domi, and Peter MacKay were the talk of the papers for weeks, and so the decision may have more to do with finding that private/public balance with which many celebrities struggle.

It's always a shame to lose a female politician, even one as shallow and dissembling as Belinda Stronach. As shallow and dissembling as she is, she could have been one of the greats.

Still, I wouldn't count her out; if she could only marry a Trudeau (not to mention stay Liberal) she might be Prime Minister yet.
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A Humble Attempt To Ease International Tension

I'll admit it, when I was younger I indulged in it quite a bit. I mean, all the other kids were doing it - I thought it would make me look cool. As I've gotten older, though, I've begun to regret it more and more.

I'm talking, of course, about anti-Americanism. Why? What did you think I meant?

The fact of the matter is, as I've read more and more history, I've come to the conclusion that anti-nationalism is about as inevitable as nationalism. If any country sticks their head over the parapet and proclaims "We're number one" a whole host of other countries will be just as likely to begin throwing number two.

As complicated as human lives are, with their unspoken motivations and constant myth-making, the lives of nations are even more so. It's very easy to emphasize what is most disliked and thus present a very unbalanced view of things. Yet few nations on Earth are not guilty of exactly the sorts of things they're most likely to condemn the United States for doing.

That's especially easy when the regime in question is as venal as the one currently toppling in Washington. Yet within each specific criticism is the answer to why it was made. "Zey're bullies" say the French, having never heard of Napoleon, and conveniently forgetting their own head-waiters as well. "Raging imperialists," the British might sniff, no doubt jealous, yet without a hint of irony. "Don't forget greedy," Canada might be eager to add, as it clings like cream (or scum) to the 100 mile strip above their common border, quietly slurping its economy northwards in exchange for abundant raw materials.

Each of these accusations may be true, but in making them much more has been revealed about the accuser than the accused. If I call a coworker "lazy", chances are it's to deflect attention from me, since I've been a little slack at my job, only he's been worse. At best, it's passive-aggressive, and when the best thing you can say about something is that it's passive-agressive, it's not that great.

There may be bigotry in the United States but there is bigotry everywhere; Europeans are able to sit on their comfortable duffs and bitch today specifically because America has been relieving its previously medieval overcrowding for the last 200 years. The solution is in understanding, not name-calling.

It's easy for non-Americans to admire, say, FDR, without admiring the national circumstances which fostered him; it's even easier to criticize all of America for the indiscretions of a few politicians rather than the politicians themselves. Sure, there are over 62 million people who voted for George W. Bush in the last election, which leaves about 138 million who didn't.

In this day and age, when real problems threaten the lives of everyone on the planet, standing around pointing fingers at this one and that one really does get in the way of solutions. As I've always said, it doesn't matter who has caused a problem, so much as who fixes it, since we are all to blame, in our own way. That doesn't automatically absolve the guilty parties of their crime, but when the crime committed (be it terrorism, global warming, or whatever) is an equal threat to those who caused it, solutions are more important than accusations.

So, if you'll just pop my Nobel Peace Prize in the mail, that'd be lovely.

[BBC via Seumas]
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Stem Cells Shown To Cure Diabetes

Too bad there's no cure for ignorance...



[via Towleroad]
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RIP Kurt Vonnegut

"What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured."

Kurt Vonnegut
1922-2007

[Wikipedia]
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A Fire That Won't Go Out

[Blogmaster's Warning: Sarcasm and exasperation often don't show up in the written word, yet this piece is dripping with both of them. Please don't bombard me with messages about how self-loathing I am; I know that already. For the record, just because I'm self-loathing doesn't mean the cause of it is internalized homophobia.]

I had to read the accompanying article a couple of times, because it contained so many incongruities. It seems a gay firefighter in a rural part of BC is suing the local fire department for anti-gay bias.

First of all, yeah. You live in the country, and work with men whose machismo means more to them than their soul. They put up nudie pictures and tell fag jokes. Yeah?

This has just sealed the deal. I'm announcing the release of my hip-hop album right now, even before it's written or recorded. Why not? Why not wade right in where you know from the start that you're not wanted, put yourself in harm's way, then complain about it?

That it happens doesn't make it okay, but you don't have any right to be shocked about it when it does, especially when you had to know from day one that it would. I worked one day as a photographer's assistant on a firefighter's calendar, and I could have told him this would happen.

What, was the police department not hiring? Good luck Mr. Mackenzie in changing the entire world all by yourself. I tried that once and it got old fast.

BC has no Human Rights Commission, but it did prior to 2002; when Gordon Campbell's Liberals were elected it was one of the first things they abolished. Currently we have a Human Rights Tribunal. In the old days, when reporting systemic bigotry such as this, investigators would interview past and present employees in an attempt to get to the source of the problem. Under the current system, the two parties get an hour or two face time with an adjudicator, and if the complainant doesn't agree to the adjudicator's findings he can be charged with the cost of the entire proceeding, usually upwards of $80,000.

I also work in a homophobic industry. I listen to fag jokes all day long. I don't say anything because if I'm ever in a dangerous situation I want to know that my backup is coming, not hanging back and laughing at the about-to-be-dead fag. And I certainly don't go to some hollow government agency where no one gives a shit about me.

Of course, that's just me. I've always been something of a libertarian where government is concerned.

The smartest thing David Mackenzie did here was going to the press. It'll get better results faster, and be more likely to bring about actual change. Going to the Human Rights Tribunal is strictly a formality to underline the seriousness of the complaint, and to make the press take it more seriously.

[S O U R C E]
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Now Showing - "The B-Team"

All kinds of funny, and totally pop culture.
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Queen of Canada Rededicates Vimy Memorial

The following is the text of the speech made 9 April at the rededication of the Vimy Memorial in France:



Ladies and gentleman, in any national story there are moments and places, sometimes far from home, which in retrospect can be seen as fixed points about which the course of history turns; moments which distinguish that nation forever. Those who seek the foundations of Canada's distinction would do well to begin here at Vimy.

Until this day 90 years ago, Vimy Ridge had been impregnable; a lesson learned at terrible cost to the armies of France and Britain. For the Allies, this ridge had become a symbol of futility and despair. It was against this forbidding challenge that the four divisions of the Canadian Corps were brought together as a single army for the first time.

In a matter of a few hours, on this cold and inclement Easter Monday morning, the Canadians became masters of the ridge and accomplished what many had thought impossible. Their victory was the fruit not only of an ingenious battle plan drawn up by Canadian commanders, but especially of courage and determination with which Canadian soldiers carried out their mission.

No fewer than four Canadians were awarded the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery during the battle, though it could easily be said that every soldier in the field demonstrated conspicuous bravery, such was the verve of the Canadian attack. It was a stunning victory. More, in capturing this formidable objective, the Canadian Corps transformed Vimy Ridge from a symbol of despair into a source of inspiration. After two-and-a-half years of deadly stalemate, it now seemed possible that the Allies would prevail and peace might one day be restored.

Here on this hallowed ground, where so much has been sacrificed, we're commemorating their courage and achievement. Their victory gave more than hope, it allowed Canada, which deserved it so much, to take its place on the world stage as a proud, sovereign nation, strong and free. Canada's commemorative monument at Vimy shows Canada's great strength and its commitment to freedom and also shows the deep solidarity that links Canada and France.

And lastly, it certainly shows the bravery, courage and sacrifice of the courageous Canadians that inspired a young nation to become a great nation.

To their eternal remembrance, to Canada, and to all who would serve the cause of freedom, I rededicate this magnificently restored memorial.

Bless you Ma'am.

The Vimy Memorial was originally dedicated by Edward VIII as King of Canada on 26 July 1936.
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Roseanne Barr Criticizes "Evangelical" Gays

Recently, while guest-hosting on a radio show, Roseanne Barr said:

Never once in my 54 years have I ever once heard a gay or lesbian person who’s politically active say one thing about anything that was not about them. They don’t care about minimum wage, they don’t care about any other group other than their own self because you know, some people say being gay and lesbian is a totally narcissistic thing and sometimes I wonder.

I’ve never heard any of them say anything except for “accept me ‘cause I’m gay.”

It’s just, it’s screwed. It’s no different than the evangelicals, it’s the same mindset. They want you to accept Jesus and you guys want us to all believe it’s okay to be gay. And a lot of us, a lot of them, I do, I don’t give a damn who anybody has sex with, as long as they’re not underage and an animal. I don’t give a damn, it’s none of my damn business. I’m just sick of all the divisiveness, it’s not getting any of us anywhere.

Of course, there are times when the ability to see all sides of an issue is a hindrance. In fact, most times it's a hindrance, since the modern fetish is for a certain fascism of opinion, especially when it comes to identity politics. I'd love to be able to stand up and loudly declaim that it's "my way or the highway" for once, but I cannot. Damn my open mind.

Strictly speaking, what Roseanne says is true, albeit specious. I have no doubt that the gays she's met are like that; most of the ones I meet are. Gay men, I mean. Others, myself and my friends included, care deeply about the whole spectrum of social justice, including queer issues (mainly because if we don't include them no one else will). Ghetto gays, not so much - though I also accept that they have their reasons for being so one-note.

As for lesbians, there isn't a charity or worthy cause anywhere that doesn't owe at least some of its membership to them, whether it's rape relief, eradicating poverty, or animal rights. I believe that inside every lesbian is an angel. In fact, I think the world should be run by lesbians over the age of 50. But that's just my opinion - I could be wrong.

Most gays of course will have their thongs in a wad over Roseanne's comments for a variety of reasons, and the ones who shout the loudest will be the ones hit a little too close to home by them. It doesn't bother me because, for my own sake, she's wrong. There's no point at my getting mad at her because she's simply not describing me. She has a point, and what she said has the power to ignite a bit of a debate in the gay male community, provided they can do it and get it over with before the next circuit party hits town.

As for "accept me because I'm gay": fuck that. Accept me because you want to; if you don't want to I couldn't care less. Gays (for example) are pretty well hated in the black community - especially hip-hop. It doesn't weaken my support for their civil rights - or my enjoyment of hip-hop - only makes me sad that the discriminated-against feel the need to pay that bigotry forward.

I've always loved Roseanne, specifically because she runs her mouth, and these comments don't change a thing. I'm not going out and burning my "Roseanne" DVDs and boycotting her or anything. I only hope that, in the fallout from this, she gets a chance to meet the kind of people she says she's never met: passionate, concerned, well-rounded gays. Even in LA.

In the words of her great foe Judy Tenuta: "It could happen."
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Speaking of Witch...

I don't know why I let this story get away from me, since this is another thing I've been waiting ages for... The final book.

I guess I figured I'd let the initial hoo-hah die down before contributing to the swelling momentum leading up to the July 21st publication date. Anything I might have to say could easily get lost in the initial press frenzy; I feel much safer leading the second or third wave. Or at least, that's what I tell myself.

I was a bit of a Johnny-Come-Lately to the series. I never read them until the release of "The Prisoner of Azkaban", when I bought and read the first three books at once. For that reason, I tend to think of the first three as one book, and certainly they do read that way. Lengthwise, the first three books fit neatly into "The Order of the Phoenix" with room left over.

One of the rituals I've developed is to reread the previous books before the new one is released. I think I'll be doing this again, especially now that I have the blog, since the blog has such a voracious appetite for content. This seems like as good a time as any for a retrospective, which I will be offering my readers as I make my way through them.

Another ritual is going down to the bookstore at midnight on the date of release and mingling with all the diehards and weirdos. I do it because it's good to be among my people. I love the idea of being caught up in something with millions of others, whether it's the series finale of "Friends" or even a hockey game. Such is the unifying effect of pop culture.

"Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" hits bookstores at the witching hour, midnight on Saturday 21 July. If this book is anything like the last one, I should close the back cover on the Monday following.
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"The Queen" on DVD April 24th

Because I'm that kind of person, I never saw "The Queen" in movie theatres, even though I was dying to. I always say it's because I don't like seeing movies in the cineplex - which is partly true - but mainly it's because I hate going anywhere there are lots of people dating. Having to walk in there alone is more than I can bear; I might as well wear a sign that says "Loser".

So the sad fact is, no one I know wanted to see it with me, so I had to wait nearly 7 months to see it myself. Obviously, there's something character building in delayed gratification, and my patience is about to pay off. "The Queen" hits stores on April 24th, and my DVD player scant minutes after that.

This year is the tenth anniversary of the tragic events depicted in the film, a week which was burned into my cerebral cortex forever. I'm dying to see for myself how they're depicted.
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Just Because: Charo

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John Travolta Is Hardly Divine

Why oh why could these dolls not have been made of the original cast? John Waters, why hast thou forsaken me? Will MacFarlane Toys hear my keening cries and ease my pain?



Oh, I'm still gonna buy them, or at least the Tracy and Edna. Normally I wouldn't, but in 1977 my mother refused to let me have a Marie Osmond doll to go with my Donny, then went apeshit in 1979 when I brought home a Princess Leia.

So it's her fault really.

[A Socialite's Life]
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A Heaping Helping of Anti-Canadian Sentiment

Much is made of anti-American sentiment, especially, of course, by Americans. In fact, I've talked about it so much, I'm beginning to resemble Papa Smurf. Of course, there's absolutely no anti-Canadian sentiment in America. Or is there?

This from Gawker seems to indicate that there just might be. Where Americans aren't outright ignorant about Canada (do y'all live in igloos?) they tend to have the viewpoint of articles like the one I've cited. Not that Canadians aren't also evil about Canada, it's just that the ones who are either a) clam up about it whenever there are Americans around, b) move to the United States or c) are Tories, and therefore constantly conniving to sell us to them anyway.

Now, as I have stated again and again whenever there's any Yank-bashing around me, there are gross people everywhere, and in my misanthropy is a message everyone can embrace: ultimately, it's behaviour that makes people horrible, not their place of birth. I have met lovely Americans, Canadians, Australians, even British. Not nearly as many as the horrible ones I've met, but then again, I don't like 99% of people.

I blame that foul smell of nitrogen in the air. It's bound to make a species hateful. Such a pretty planet, such an ugly species running it...
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Herb Ritts Gallery To Open In 2010

The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston is establishing a permanent gallery honouring photographer Herb Ritts, who died in 2002. The usual criticisms have been raised, namely that Ritts' work is closer to pop culture than it is to fine art, which is likely the same thing they said about the Mona Lisa while it was drying.

Ritts' work, if anything, is the bridge between pop culture and fine art; all pop culture fades, and as it does whatever is most loved in it is then elevated to the status of fine art. His pictures are iconic and much loved - the ultimate measure of art - ergo, end of story.

A donation of $2.5 million US and 189 images has been made by his foundation to establish the space. A showing of his work at the same museum in 1996 drew a quarter million visitors. Being the curmudgeon I am, I can't help thinking that the fact that Ritts was gay, as well as the fact that he died of AIDS, as much as his popularity, is what has drawn the ire of the artsy crowd.

Not that you'd ever get me to say such a thing out loud, that is. Photography has always been given short shrift by the Art with a Capital A crowd anyway, so it could just be plain snobbery rather than homophobia that has their blue stockings in a wad.

[S O U R C E]
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Vimy Ridge Remembered

This Easter Weekend is the 90th anniversary of the attack on Vimy Ridge towards the end of the First World War. Nations are born on the battlefield, and Vimy Ridge was Canada's baptism in blood. Canadian troops lobbed over one million shells at German emplacements that week, with a success rate of over 80%. It took 100,000 Canadians to take and hold the ridge; 3,598 were killed and 7,104 wounded.

The Great War has always been a special fascination of mine, probably because I had the privilege of knowing a veteran of that conflict. My great-grandfather Charlie Stroklund (who died when I was 16 aged 88) was a sapper with the 10th Field Regiment out of Regina, and saw action throughout France and Belgium, most poignantly at the Somme.

Charlie was a big man (6 foot 4 and over 200 pounds) but he could never talk about what he saw there. Whenever anything reminded him of it he'd dissolve into tears, even half a century later. It was a point of contention between my mother, my grandmother and me when, as a young writer, I was always eager to glean from him what I could. I don't believe Charlie ever minded my pestering him like they did, but there was never much he was able to tell me.

Fortunately, as an old writer, I'm able to honour his survival with my words. Returning to Canada, profoundly affected by what he'd been through, he nonetheless perservered, and with his bare hands proceeded to help build this country. His contribution? Dozens of Saskatchewan's iconic grain elevators.
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Now Showing - David Campbell's "Pacific Dream"

It's always a pleasure to feature this gentleman's work on here. The song is especially apt, as the week we've been having, weather-wise at least, has certainly been a pacific dream.
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Looking Back - The Hotel Dufferin

For many years the Hotel Dufferin was a skankeriffic alternative to the slightly less skanky gay bars on Davie Street. It was certainly unpretentious, for what that's worth. I went there a couple of times, but the smell of the patrons barely concealed the smell of the mildew in the rug, and I usually left before I hurled (an option too-few of the regulars exercised).

Alas, the Dufferin is no more; now it's called "moda". In the words of Matt Foley: Lah-di-freakin'-dah.

Three experiences stand out, probably because they're the only three times I went there. The first was in 1990, the first time I went there. Some drunk spilled a drink on me (because he was drinking while "dancing"). I spent the evening with a rum and coke in my left shoe and by the end of the night both were well ruined. The second was on a visit in the mid-90s. I went there with my friend Matthew to see the strippers - because he wanted to see the strippers. It started out gross, but got worse from there, when Matthew touched the stripper. This prompted an angry tirade; the night lives forever in the collective memory as "The Night Matthew Made The Stripper Political". Some day, when the memory no longer makes my skin crawl I may write about it in greater depth, as much as such a thing is possible. The third time I went in there for five minutes with my friend Doug on the way to the Royal Pub in 2000; the same people were in the same places they were the previous two times I'd been there, which is frankly sad.

I have no idea if it's still a queer space or not. In fact, I may go down there tomorrow and check it out. Strictly in a citizen-journalist way, of course. My disdain for gay bars is a matter for the record, but then I do need to get over myself. This may be just the opportunity I've been looking for.

(Mainly this post is a test exercise. Click on the above photo for an enlarged view.)
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Would You Attend A Suzanne Somers-ware Party?

Normally if you want to be this camp you need a tent, but according to the Advocate it's what's happening.

Personally, this is one of the most pop culture things I've ever seen: the star of the silliest jigglefest of the 1970s marketing her lifestyle a la Avon and Tupperware.

I guess this means the world is ready for my own line of Mrs. Roper-inspired muu-muus and Mr. Furley neckerchiefs.

[S O U R C E]
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Queen Goes Green

Buckingham Palace today announced an audit of royal residences to make them as environmentally conscious as possible. The study is only of official residences, not the private ones, and its findings will not be made public.

[S O U R C E]
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Griffin Poetry Prize Shortlist Announced

This from the Toronto Star's entertainment reporter Vit Wagner:

"Don McKay, a two-time nominee for the Griffin Poetry Prize, was again named today to the Canadian shortlist for the lucrative literary award. McKay's "Strike/Slip" was among three nominees announced in Toronto today for the $50,000 prize.

Also nominated were Ken Babstock's "Airstream Land Yacht" and Priscila Uppal's "Ontological Necessities".

The four nominees for the international prize, also worth $50,000, are U.S. writers Rodney James ("Salvation Blues"), Frederick Seidel ("Ooga-Booga") and Charles Wright ("Scar Tissue"), and U.K. poet Paul Farley ("Tramp in Flames").

A record 483 books, including 18 translations, representing 15 countries were considered by jury members John Burnside, Chames Simic and Karen Solie for this year’s prizes. The seven nominees will participate in a program of readings June 5 at the MacMillan Theatre in Toronto, with the two winners to be announced the following day.

Writer David Young, one of the prize's six trustees, acknowledged that poetry isn't as central to our literary culture as it once was, but said it will always endure. "It's like the albino cockroach in the nuclear reactor," he said. "It can't be killed."

* * *

Seeing as I actually am a Canadian poet, and therefore rather up on these things, the fact that Ken Babstock is the only one of these I've ever heard of (aside from Simic, who's not nominated, but a judge) is either dismaying (only one...?) or uplifting (look at the trove of obscure poets what's been uncovered). Personally I'm opting for the first one, but then, I haven't had my breakfast yet.

Er, go Ken Babstock, yay!
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Trailer For "Young Triffie"

What luck! YouTube's search is back on line and look what I found. It's a little dark (therefore hard to see in places) but it looks hilarious. I can't wait.
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Newfoundland Cultural Update

Each morning after dragging my ass out of bed I head to the computer to try and wake up my brain. In a slightly twee appropriation of magazine culture, I refer to this as the as the "story meeting". It's the time of the day when I monitor trends, manage the zeitgeist, and daily make dozens of choices which will determine the direction of this blog in the long term.

Mostly, though, I'm just trying to wake up.

Well, when two Newfoundland stories emerge on the same day, that's enough to wake me up and quick. I don't go on and on about Newfoundland here like I want to, mainly because in the past I've worried that it might turn off readers unfamiliar with and unwilling to learn about this particular sub-culture. However, I'm well beyond fears of that nature at this point.

Both stories feature news about Mary Walsh; no surprise there. Ms. Walsh is a one-woman cultural ambassador for Newfoundland, and they couldn't ask for a better one. Brassy, sassy, and whip-smart to boot, I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Walsh in 1989 when, thanks to Codco, I was already a fan. Codco, Canada's legendary and cultish sketch comedy show, was then winding up and I remember asking what was next for her. She gave me a wink and said, "You'll see."

I have indeed seen. Shortly thereafter Ms. Walsh was involved in the conception of a show called "This Hour Has 22 Minutes", a mock news show which even mocked with its title; "This Hour Has Seven Days" was a pioneering newsmagazine program in Canada in the 60s and 70s. 22 Minutes remains on television today after nearly 15 years and numerous personnel changes, a testament to its neccessary place in the cultural mix of Canada.

Through the Newfoundland Independent Film Corporation (NIFCO) she's been involved in numerous projects which have captured Newfoundland's unique culture on celluloid. Alas, none of these films has yet to be offered on DVD, and more's the pity. She's even starred in "Mambo Italiano" among others, in a rare non-Newfoundland role, as an Italian mother. She last starred in one of the CBC's stand-out original series' last year, entitled "Hatching, Matching, and Dispatching", and my first bit of good news is that the show has been announced for its DVD release!

While it is the CBC's mandate to broadcast to all Canadians, in Vancouver it cannot be tuned in without cable. As much as I'd love to call shame on the Mothercorp (aka the Canadian Broadcorping Castration), as long as they keep releasing DVDs I can't get too mad. However, between that and my chaotic work schedule, I was unable to catch "H, M, & D" in it's initial broadcast run. Aside from a few seemingly lucid reviews and a couple of grainy clips on YouTube, the show remains an enigma to me. Though not, fortunately, for long.

So the news that, it seems, she's directed her first feature, and that it's theatrical run begins on Friday 6 April, would have been good news enough on an average day; today, though, it was just gilding the lily. "Young Triffie" is set in a Newfoundland outport during World War II, and from that synopsis alone I'm salivating to see it. Among the costars is Fred Ewanuick, himself a Canadian acting machine, appearing in both "Corner Gas" and "Robson Arms" as well as a spate of under-promoted feature films.

So now comes the real work: watching HMV for the DVDs and checking my local listings on the off-chance that at least one movie house in Vancouver will be showing "Young Triffie" long enough for me to get down to see it.
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Gratuitous Brunette: Vivek Oberoi

There are huge gaps in my knowledge of pop culture, and Bollywood is just one of them. Unless "The Guru" counts, the only such film I've ever seen is Shashi Kapoor's "Bandit Queen".

So when a reader (thank you Doug!) sent me this name it was indeed spontaneous. Hell, it even caught me off guard. Yet what a delightful surprise.

[IMdB]
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A Gigabyte of Beauty

No, it's not another post about Jake Gyllenhaal. Besides which, they're measuring him in Terabytes now. I'm referring to the fact that on today's sojourn through the city I filled my entire 1 GB memory card with photos and video.

A change in work situation, as well as a shift in seasons, seems to be mandating a change in focus for us here. So for the next little while I'll be posting more photos, more of my own videos, as well as original fiction. There'll still be snide commentary on celebrity culture, just less of it.

Instead of reflecting the culture that is popular, I've decided to take a more assertive stance, and highlight culture which ought to be popular, namely mine. I've never been much of a cultural warrior; this is my first salvo to that end.

Who knows? I may even spot some celebrity flesh while out on one of my walks, in which case, you'll be the first to know. There's a first time for everything.

Speaking of which... Nine years I've lived in Vancouver and I've never seen one of our legendary bald eagles. Until today! This is a first for me as a twitcher as well, since I've only ever seen golden eagles before. I have to confess, when I finished taking his picture I had a little cry. After the last couple of weeks, it was a nice omen for me, that there's still so much to discover.

I also bought "Robson Arms", one of the first sitcoms ever shot in Vancouver. Not only that - it's actually set here as well. I once wrote a pilot called "Wacky Neighbour", which was set in a small apartment block and told from multiple points of view, except the title character was never seen. The plot of "Robson Arms" is that it's set in a small apartment block and told from multiple points of view. I was never able to catch it when it was first broadcast, so I'm looking forward to seeing it now.

Enough chatter! I have work to do!!


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Vancouver Views 6 - Downtown & the West End

This was a bitterly cold and windy morning. It took three attempts mostly because of the wind, and I needed to go inside and warm up between each take. It starts at the Granville Street Bridge and ends at the Burrard Bridge, facing north.
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K N U T !

This is Knut, currently the star of the Berlin Zoo. Since being rejected by his mother (what a mother, indeed) the debate has raged: let Knut starve to death to teach children how cruel Nature is, or save Knut and turn the ensuing frenzy of publicity into the kind of attendance numbers usually reserved for pandas. Hmmm...

Well, humans have already interfered with animals to such an extent that I see no reason to stop now. Like we even could. Normally, I would never side with humans against animals, since I am on record (frequently, loudly) declaiming that 99% of humans are hideous, but in that one percent are 600,000 people in the world with the compassion to save the animal species that remain. I say Humanity has a chance to be kinder than Nature for once, and we should take it.

Plus, think of the marketing tie-ins. Plus, he's so cute. Plus... Well, I'm sure there are others, but this is coming dangerously close to math now, so I'd better stop now.

(So there's no question: polar bears aren't endangered. They're powerful swimmers and fearsome predators and the rulers of the Arctic. As this is not an ecology issue, it comes down to animal rights activists longing to see this little guy starve to death to prove some agenda. A couple of years from now, the same people who advocated for his death should only answer their front door to find a 12 foot tall 800 pound bear standing there. Be prepared - he'll be hungry.)
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Damn Straight: Matt Sanchez edition

From the King (or should I say Queen?), of specious reasoning comes this little morsel, courtesy of Radar, via Gawker.

I would be happy to leave Matt Sanchez where he belongs, on pop culture's slag heap (aka Ann Coulter) but I'll be darned if he doesn't keep poking at us with a stick. If he's determined to have his entire 15 minutes of fame, I'll be happy to give it to him. I find it makes watching my Rod Majors porn all that more enjoyable.

Oh, and it's not a fatwa, as gay men would never support anything with the word FAT in it. It's a fagwa, you dipshit. Although I have to admire anyone who can offend two utterly disparate groups in the same slur. I can only hope Hamas has his address and reacts accordingly.

[G A W K E R]
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I'm Back

So, in addition to workplace stress and a full moon, April 1st is also the day my grandmother died.

It was nine years ago now, and it never gets easier. Most of the light went out of my life that day; each day since then represents a single brick in a road. I have clawed my way forward this far, almost all of it by my fingernails. Though my will to live is often tenuous at best, my life's will to be lived burns with a kind of fury that most days was all that sustained me.

My grandmother wouldn't have wanted me to be so miserable, and goodness knows I don't like it much either. But then, I must, or I wouldn't have been like this for so long. During the recent self-portrait saga I took time to look back at pictures of myself as a kid. That happy little face bears no resemblance to the mask of tragedy I've been wearing. That's the real tragedy here; that I nearly let external forces ruin me, and any internal goodness which my grandmother's love instilled in me.

This blog is what that road has become, and now, instead of each day, each post is a brick. Instead of creeping my way forward on hands and knees I have picked myself up and am now able to make a stride most days, and some days even two.

Progress was the stated aim when I began this enterprise, and progress is still my byword today. Despite its foes and all their work to the contrary, progress will happen. Why anyone would trade the reality of today and the possibility of tomorrow for the myth of yesterday is beyond me. Hopefully, so are the worst days I have ever known.
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It Just Occurred To Me...

In my workaholism-induced stupor I stumbled awake, and then through my usual morning routine: checking my mail, updating my blog, making my way through my usual infotainment sites (fortunately it's Saturday) when I eventually get to Joe.My.God. As usual, there are some good posts there: a ramble up the West Side of Manhattan with pix (wish it was me), a couple of hot guys (ditto), a little politics, a sprinkling of bigotry, a lesbian rabbi - the whole schmear. The comments, of course, are half the fun, so I left a couple - lighthearted, informative (I hope)... I always try to play nice when I'm at Joe.My.God.

Most startling, though, was a post about Nutella that, at the time I found it, had an eye-popping 90 comments on it. With great trepidation I opened the comments section. I found myself thinking I'd rather have opened an actual jar of Nutella than this can of worms. What I did get, though, was a lightning bolt.

I've always found something irksome about Joe, but could never quite put my finger on it. Oh, I like him well enough, and it is interesting to have a ramble through someone else's point-of-view, especially when it's a) so different from your own, and b) so well-expressed. Plus, any bear who references Monica Geller is okay in my book. That's when it occurred to me what it is I find irksome about Joe.

If he likes something, he's unable to understand why others don't love it as much as he does, and the same goes for something he dislikes. It's a point made by Matt Sanchez on his blog (which seems to have been removed), but I never twigged to it until now, probably because Sanchez has next to no credibility. I guess there's something needy in my personality that makes me want to be liked to such an extent that I always try to understand the viewpoint of others, especially if said others are nice to me.

I think intolerance is a standard reaction to intolerance, and as much of that as gay men face, leather men and drag queens (in other words, our sexual and gender outlaws) likely face more. I understand why we ghetto-ize, even when I don't do it myself. (Like I even could.) A blog is a wonderful thing for bringing together people of similar affinities. I've never read far back into the misty past of Joe.My.God, but I suspect if I did I'd find that these tendencies of his - to be intractable, narrow-minded, etc. - were probably more marked one, two, or three thousand posts ago. Either that or he's always been an opinionated blowhard, and he always will be - not that I have any problem with a blowhard. ; )

Writing about Joe is a two-headed monster. It's good, in that anytime I post about him I get comments (and email) up the wazoo, most of it good or at least neutral. It's bad, in that, if I say anything critical (even constructively) I'm likely to be set upon and bottomed by hordes of angry bears who are pissed off that I've said anything worse than woof about the man who, for them, is less Joe than he is My God.

For the record, I like Nutella. It's marmite and vegemite I can't abide. Still, if I knew a friend who liked them was coming over, they'd find them in my fridge. Similarly, rather than merely reacting to some quality of a stranger's that I dislike, I do try to understand him if at all possible. I can only hope that Vancouver's gay men understand this about me, and continue in their concerted efforts to leave me alone, or at least be nice if they disagree.

Remember, the nicer you are, the harder I'll work to understand your point of view.
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Vancouver Views 5 - False Creek

The first in the series with genuine narration. Yes, that's my voice. Sorry about that.

"Vancouver Views" has proven itself to be internationally popular, so much so that it has earned me a spot on someone else's blogroll: Y|O|Y (aka Why Oh Why). This is the first accolade (except for your lovely comments, of course) which I have earned from my work here at the Pop Culture Institute. Unfortunately, Gavin's blog is not setup to allow each posting its own html page, so I can't permalink directly there. Perhaps if I can get his permission to cut and paste the body of the text into this post...

This represents a huge step forward for me, as well as a karma boost for all concerned, since it is just a nice thing to do for someone. It feels as though there ought to be some kind of ceremony to accompany it: a flourish of trumpets, the pinning of some ribbon and a hunk of metal to a lapel, kneeling in front of a Queen. That sort of thing.

All I can offer is my humble thanks, a bit of publicity for he who has bestowed it, and then it's back to work for me. 1 down, only about 50 million more blogrolls to go. No matter how successful my enterprise is here, Y|O|Y will always be my first.
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Stanley Park Sojourn

In retrospect, I should have noticed the signs: irritability, apathy, listlessness. If I spend too much time around humans I turn into a real grouch. When, through some glaring oversight by my company, I was given an actual day off, and when, by some even more glaring oversight by the area's Nature gods, the day was clear and dry, I took myself to Stanley Park and spent some time with the animals.

I didn't feel up to trekking through the woods to survey the devastation caused by our recent winter storms, so I took a leisurely stroll around the Lagoon instead. It gave me a chance to catch up with a few of my animal friends who live there. I will return to the park for a deeper foray later, though, and post my findings here.


I wasn't ten metres inside the park when I met this little fellow. He was bold at first, but when I didn't have food off he went. Still, he gave me this singular image. Alas, his back was to the sun, so it isn't ideal, though that's just me being picky. The black squirrel is predominant, the gray more rare, the red the rarest of all. I saw no reds on this day, not even glimpsed. This was one of about four grays I saw, and dozens of blacks.



Having learned my lesson I found someone who had food (I don't feed wild animals) and as they gave out food I snapped pictures. This guy stayed around awhile. I sat on a rock, very still, so he'd forget I was there. As usual, I didn't have my tripod, which makes photographing these fidgety little beasts a challenge. Plus it helps to overexpose to photograph a black animal, which can wash out the background. Still, I think I did alright.



I did encounter the raccoon, but by the time I noticed him he'd already sussed me out and by the time the camera was out he was gone into the underbrush. That he was even out in the day points to his having rabies, so I always approach him with caution. I sat down again (this time on a fallen log) and called and called, but he never returned. Instead, I snapped this little guy. They have the funniest call; it sounds like someone blowing a raspberry. In fact, that's what I thought it was at first - some damn kid scaring away all my friends.



The winter's devastation has created a plethora of ground feeding. There were hundreds of these little guys hopping around. As usual, they're also fidgety little buggers, but this one landed in the light. Fujifilm's genius technology did the rest. This is a male; the females were all immensely fat and ready to lay their eggs. They tended to stay in the underbrush to feed or let their mates bring them food. Sound familiar?



Squirrels (even the gray ones) are relatively common in the park, but chipmunks aren't. This little devil was teasing a Pekinese when I took this picture, playing peekaboo then running away as the dog strained against the end of his lead. Hilarious. They must have done this for twenty minutes. I could have watched it for two hours.



Around the time I was sitting with the black squirrel I noticed the lagoon's resident swans across the water; after I left the chipmunk I headed straight there. I got a couple of pictures of him feeding in the rushes, watched as he sailed dangerously close to a wading heron, then sailed off again huffily, faster than a jogger. This is that moment.



And this is that heron. Despite the storms, very few herons' nests were damaged. It's almost like (shock!) they know something we don't. This one was drinking; I took a few pictures between sips, but when I went to take video of him feeding he flew off. The park was filled with herons that day (as it is most days). I have many wonderful pictures of them; one day I'll get one on video.



Most of the ducks in Stanley Park are mallards. This was the only pair of wood ducks I saw this day. Wood ducks are my favourite duck (closely followed by the merganser). I was focused on the male (surprise, surprise) but was pleased when I got this shot of the both of them, with the female not too blurry in the foreground.



At one point I knew the names of over 100 species of common birds, including this one. Knowledge not used will fade, I'm sad to admit, which means I should brush up on my bird books. There are a few pairs of these in Stanley Park, especially in the area where I was. The females are brown where the males are blue, and are nearly as lovely. I also saw Canada geese, chickadees, wrens, starlings, seagulls, Arctic terns, and pigeons on that wonderful day in the park.


I've been a twitcher since I was about 8 years old, but I've fallen out of it lately. This visit (and the snazzy camera that helped me capture these moments) have awakened that interest in me. The next nice day I have off I'm going to Burns Bog, which (for the time being, anyway) is one of Canada's largest remaining wetland areas.

Development is encroaching, though, and the BC Liberal government can't seem to sell off our natural heritage fast enough, so I figure I better get down there while it's still there. Nothing beats a picture of a bird in a semi-wild setting; there's nothing sadder than to see a red-wing blackbird on a mailbox.
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Goodnight Seattle! We Love You!

A year ago, a trip to the DVD store was a treasure hunt. What would I find? How cool would it be? Would it be?

Last night's trip to the DVD store was fraught with the opposite peril... How do I decide? Do I really need to pay rent?

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, as running the Pop Culture Institute out of a shopping cart simply isn't feasible. One good thing - at least these days it's not possible to make a bad choice. There's so much good out there even the bad stuff's at least obscure.

To whit: I decided to return to an old favourite, "Frasier", and the first season at that. The thing about a long-running series is that the early seasons don't linger in syndication, so I haven't seen some of these episodes in many years. Even more shocking, some of them I've never seen at all. Bad dilettante! Bad!

What a pleasure it is to see those old familiar characters before network focus grous got to them and softened all their edges off. Frasier and Niles gayer than gay, Daphne kookier than kook, Roz... Well, you get the point. It's also a treat to see Moose, who plays Eddie, all spry and emotive. In the last few seasons of "Frasier" - to give you an idea how long the show was on - Eddie was played by Moose in closeups and Moose's son in the action sequences.

Moose died on June 22nd, 2006, but will live forever in our hearts, or at least in our DVD players.
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When Schedules Attack

Saturday and Sunday I have such a terrible schedule I'm almost tempted to get in a cat sitter.

Since most blogs go silent at weekends, I always try to do more on those days, to build my readership with Saturday and Sunday supplements, like the newspapers. This weekend, though, will probably be alot of YouTube, news digests (3 or more links in a single post) and who knows? There may be a surprise or two in there for you kids as well.

The longer I do this, the easier and faster it gets. Just keep in mind that when I'm hungry and/or tired I tend to run my mouth; well-rested or not, the rule of thumb is, if I write anything here that offends you, state your reasons calmly in a comment and I just might prove myself to be reasonable. Hey! It could happen.
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Jizz Successfully Deployed

British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen (shown) has some pretty hot DNA there; so hot it leapt from the hotness of him right into his wife. Wait, this was supposed to be about someone (a woman, presumably) getting pregnant, but suddenly all I can think about is that ambitious load of spunk. I think I cum, I think I cum...

I don't like embarassment comedy, so I'm unfamiliar with Mr. Cohen's work, but dayam if he's not hot. Or did I say that already?
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Tuskegee Airmen Honoured

Sixty years after serving their country with honour, returning to their racist nation without parades or accolades, the surviving Tuskegee Airmen were finally honoured by the Executive and Legislative branches with a Congressional Medal.

[S O U R C E]
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Now Showing: Amy Sedaris on "The Late Show"

I love her. Not sure what was in the water over there at Sedaris HQ when they were growing up, but I gotta drink me a bucket of it.
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(A)Musings: Bill Clinton

("If she makes me her Vice President we'll never be able to take the same plane, and I'll get to spend 200 nights a year in an undisclosed location... Dang!)
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Department of Good Christians: Patti LaBelle

Jennifer Hudson? Who dat? Miss Thing better sit and have a chat with a genuine Christian before running her mouth again.

45 years Patti's been on our side, which puts her right up there with Elizabeth Taylor, Bette Midler, and Cher in my estimation.

Keep on keeping on Lady Marmalade. The rest of these two-a-penny "divas" are just trying to come up in your glowing light.
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A Blogger's Conundrum

I'm never certain if I should send people whom I've profiled on here the link to my site, or just let my readers find me organically. What, if any, is the consensus of opinion among my readers?

Most bloggers, of course, are utter whores. How I envy them. They market the heck out of themselves, and seem to have the readership to prove it. Ah, but what of their souls?

I'm convinced most people could live a nice, tidy life without one. I see evidence of it everywhere, especially in the blogosphere.

There's no brown-noser better than me, mainly because I'm utterly sincere whenever I do it. I didn't just write what I wrote about Alison Bechdel because her publisher sent me a free copy and I'm eager to keep that gravy train pulling up to my station; I bought it with my own damn money because I like her work.

This is the contradiction that rules my life: I'm half Auntie Mame and half anti-social. Lately, the anti-social half is winning. Of course, that could just be marijuana withdrawal.

Some days (days like today) it feels like it'll be easier getting the troops out of Iraq than getting the THC out of my blood. Detox, bless it, seems like a breeze compared to building (not to mention keeping) a readership.

Maybe, just maybe, the day will come when Auntie Mame returns, and kicks anti-social to the curb. In the meantime it's back to work.
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