Call the Police

So yesterday I'm biking to work, doing my little bit for the environment, and suddenly I quite literally had to squeeeeze past a line of at least dozen matching red 18-wheelers and a few more shiny RV buses, parked in a vacant lot that I usually cut across. Idling their engines.

When I cycled back again, 10 hours later, same trucks, same engines, same idling. Dammit you people, I'm peddling my brains out over here - make me at least feel like I'm making a difference and turn off the ignition.

So I called the "Idling Complaint Hotline" in Vancouver (it's illegal here now, you know) to check it out. The person at city hall was very nice, and we chatted - there was a possibility that it was the trucks generators rather than engines, and I'm the first to admit I know nothing about 18-wheelers. But she promised to have a officer go check it out anyway, and took my name and number. I haven't heard back.

Meanwhile, this evening I rolled past the trucks again. I swear to God, no possibility of generators this time, their engines were most definitely idling. Come'on! Give me a little break here, is all I'm asking...

My current #1 suspect is the Police. No, not those police, those other Police. The boys have a couple of concerts on in Vancouver (including tonight) and given the dates and location, I can only surmise that it's their band buses and other baggage idling away.

Sting, I believed in you, what happened? I thought you were a sensitive new age guy! You and Bono, saving the world from boring G8 summits. And now this. For the love of the planet, go give your teamsters a big healing hug, and then tell them to cut their bloody engines.

Welcome to HGTV

A few weeks in to our new place, and we've decided that yes, we do need to paint, because the colour doesn't quite fit. It's the palest of pale blues (something like this) , and we'd prefer the palest of pale creams (something like this). So really, we're going to be painting a white apartment white again. That's us, always livin' on the edge, takin' chances...

Images from a weekend

Stumbling towards the weekend

Life being what it is, a series of expected and unexpected events, the last few weeks have been busy indeed. I spend my days at work trying to whittle down the to-do list to a manageable size and then by the time I get home, which has lately been somewhere around 8pm after various extra-curricular activities, I can't even imagine tackling anything on the home to-do list. Sometimes that list is as simple as finding dinner, and even that stumps me. (All credit goes to Scott for this one, tonight we're having in-season spot prawns with a fresh salad.) It's at this time of the week that basic survival skills are all that's keeping me going, until I can reset the system over the weekend and reclaim some ability to think past one minute from now.

Lucky for me, then, that it's a holiday weekend coming up. Scott and I are headed over to Galiano the minute the five-o'clock whistle blows, so if you need us over the next few days you'll find us loafing around and following the example of some fat, noisy and lazy seals in front of my parent's cabin.

Creative Photography

Grand Central.JPG
Originally uploaded by Janice Greenwood-Fraser.

I love the creative process of writing and photography, which is why I love my job: I get to know some of the best journalists and photojournalists in the world. But as much as their work can be inspirational, it can also be overwhelming, and I've put off improving my own skills as I don't feel I could ever measure up to the truly world class work I see around me.

And I can imagine any number of you now reading this and shaking your finger at me to tell me the obvious truth that it should be about the enjoyment I get out of it, not how good (or bad) I am. And I've learned with a number of other hobbies I've picked up along the way that you don't have to be good to have fun (did someone say swimming?) so thus stated is my pledge to start picking up the camera more often and having fun.

With that, you'll find a photo that I took not too long ago in New York, a view of Grand Central Station after a stiff late-night drink at the Campbell Apartment.

Update on Project Pool

The good news is the breathing thing is getting much better. At least for front crawl. And I'm having a lot of fun, which is good. But it looks like I've got a long way to go before I qualify for the Olympics.

Our coach is a nice guy, but I think he's kind of flummoxed by the four or so of us in the slow lane. At the start of every session, he writes down the evening's plan on the white board, and then goes through a few tips and techniques for the whole group to keep in mind with each of the strokes. And then he looks at our lane and says, "for you guys, you should... just do your best." The other lanes have long finished by the time we do a set of lengths, so he's taken to giving us slightly shorter assignments so we can actually finish on time.

Meanwhile, in the midst of this low-grade chaos, we've begun the task of learning the butterfly stroke. I can't really describe what a strange stroke the butterfly is - in part because I don't really understand. There's a lot of wriggling of the lower body, while the arms and torso flail up and down. and every person seems to describe it differently: some say it starts from the hips, others say from the chest, or neck, or head: some say there are two kicks (aka wriggles) for each arm stroke, and others say just one is fine. The one thing everyone seems to agree on is breathing: apparently, the 'fly is easier if you don't.

So the current technique I use at the moment is to come to a dead stop, lift my head to breathe in and then start moving again. Starting to move from the middle of the pool isn't so easy, as you can imagine, particularly with a stroke that needs some forward momentum, so all of this is a slow an laborious process. Wriggle wriggle, stop, breathe, wriggle wriggle, stop, breathe... So for the last two sessions, not only is the coach trying to yell helpful suggestions to me from poolside, but so are the two other lifeguards on duty. At one point I had a whole crowd of personal coaches on the edge of the pool. The whole situation is pretty hilarious, so I'm usually laughing underwater.

Ode to Main Street

I haven't had much free time to wander the streets around our new place, but it doesn't take much to know how much I like it. The side streets are filled with a combination of beautifully restored heritage homes and lopsided rental houses; community gardens are found in tiny spaces like traffic roundabouts and curbside corners, and the commercial district is an offbeat combination of 'old-Main' with laundromats and upholstery shops that haven't changed since 1972, and 'new Main' with lots and lots of funky independent stores, more than I can count. Scott finds particularly amusing the juxtaposition of the high-end bridal store right next to the porn shop.

Just a few of the many finds in my new 'hood:

- Good Coffee.
- Stylish flowers.
- Cute dresses.
- More cute dresses.
- Great shoes.
- Fun shirts.
- Good food.
- Random letters.

Bigfoot

So I did my little bit for the earth today and started biking to work. It's an easy 20 minute ride, give or take, on a popular bike route in Vancouver with plenty of right-of-way for bicyclists. I've bought a bright yellow biking jacket that makes me look goofy but very visible, and the clothes iron and hairdryer at the gym should make me look a little less dog-eared by the time I get to my desk.

I'm feeling very proud of myself for making my carbon footprint a little bit smaller, but the online ecological footprint calculator isn't so impressed. My pesky air travel skews my consumption of greenhouse gases straight upwards to a point where I might as well be living in a giant house and driving a couple hours each way for work. Crap. If I really am going to tiptoe a little lighter on the planet I guess it's time to start planting trees and eating root vegetables.

Zen

Today I got back on my mountain bike for the first time since last season and it felt good. Starting out I was a bit worried that I would choke on some of the more difficult bits of the trail, but surprisingly I cruised through some stuff that would have had me cursing and swearing not to long ago. It helped to avoid the little stunt that last year pulled me in and then tossed me like a salad.

I've gotten some strange looks when I've mentioned this to some folks, but I really find that mountain biking is a zen activity. A lot like yoga. Skiing is the same way, and I suspect surfing is too. You've got to have balance and focus: you've got to be relaxed yet attentive, and it helps to breathe (still working on that last one with swimming too.) And you're in a nature setting, so there's that nice feeling of connection with the earth. However, my zen theory goes all to crap because as Dave points out, anger is also a pretty good motivator: get mad at the log, charge at it like a bull and you'll probably roll over it. Or use his other technique, which is to make engine revving sounds while pedaling like mad. Vrrooom, vrroooomm.....

Permanent Address

So we're moved, boxes are unpacked, the clutter has cleared and we're coming to the realization that... we have no furniture.

Sure, there's the usual collection of hand-me-down tables and chairs, with a couple of good pieces like our red couch and my grandmother's chest thrown into the mix, but mostly it's an 'it'll work for now' situation. In reality, over the past few years we've consciously chosen to not get new furniture until we had a permanent address. But now we've put all our money into the place and there's nothing left for furniture. But all in good time, right? Until then, I'll keep dreaming about my dining room table.