Today I ran early due to a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon (early in this case meaning noon). Despite general rain forecasts for the week, the sky cleared up and it was sunny for nearly the entire jog. Should have left the jacket at home.
My tender right calf proved most vexing and I slowed my pace to reduce the chance of aggravating it. I was certainly successful in slowing, posting my worst times for a 35-minute run. A wiener dog puppy out in the field was chasing a ball and his barks sounded like they were filled with helium. This very cute fellow added +1 to my spirit. There was also a riding mower out cutting the grass alongside the trail, creating noise and belching diesel as I ran by it. -1 to spirit. There was also a road crew just up the hill next to the park and they were drilling with water, resulting in a highly unpleasant hissing noise. -1 again. The pleasant aroma of fresh-cut grass barely offset this. Overall, a bit of a wash.
I passed one person who was jogging so slowly I could have passed her if I’d been walking. It was some weird anti-jog. Maybe she was trying to run in place and not getting it quite right.
There was no burst of speed for the last five minutes, just quietly bearing it until the Nike lady told me to stop. When she did I hit the wrong command to end the run and it continued for another five seconds as I stood there fumbling with the iPod controls. I’m beginning to hate that sleek, sexy but difficult-to-use thing.
Perhaps they are priming their readership for Halloween and getting in the spirit of all things ghoulish by presenting three unrelated stories about various bad people who are ON TRAIL, ON TRIAL or ARRESTED as noted above. Why are these three individuals lumped together and slapped on the front page of one of the city’s daily newspapers?
I don’t know.
Maybe it is because fear sells. Or it could be more prurient than that — there is a fascination with bad people and The Province is simply tapping into that for the public’s benefit. Certainly, there could be no news actually worthy of the front page in an urban area of two million people and a province of over four million, so it’s understandable the paper would have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, as it were, to put this motley crew front and center.
Speaking of the public, it’s time to poke into the brackish depths of reader comments on cbc.ca’s website again to see what nuggets of wisdom are being passed along by the people who voted the BC Liberals into power three times in a row.
In a story titled Tory logos on federal cheques draw fire we learn that several disbursement cheques of the novelty oversized photo-op variety were presented with not the Government of Canada logo but the Conservative Party logo. This is a no-no as it’s not money provided by the Conservatives but the federal government. Now, the common sense take on this is the Conservatives have demonstrated a penchant for what might be called sleazy, American-style campaigning and tactics, with an emphasis on negativity and doing things like this in the hope that they won’t be caught outright so that little logo can do its subliminal thing of associating the Conservatives with “free” money. This is a cynical line of thought but not particularly conspiratorial. They’re basically seeing what they can get away with and willing to shrug off whatever fallout may occur. Heck, they’re leading the polls, after all.
Here is one of the cheques in question:
The story dutifully notes the expected outrage from the opposition parties and the Conservative pictured above is unrepentant. But lo, look at the first reader comment from “CAN_Becket”:
I am getting really sick of the childish behaviour from both the Liberal and Conservative Parties….in fact, ALL parties.
If you ever watch Parliament it’s like watching a bunch of 5 year olds fighting with each other.
There are more important things to worry about these days than whether a conservative logo is on a novelty cheque…..man….get back to work!!!
Sick of the childish behavior. Well, that seems reasonable enough. Politicians are never the most best-behaved people around, that’s for certain and Parliament does resemble a playground during Question Period (or circus, depending on how your preferred analogies skew). But then we get to the last part:
There are more important things to worry about these days than whether a conservative logo is on a novelty cheque…..man….get back to work!!!
And here we see the typical knee-jerk reaction, the abandonment of critical thinking. Yes, there are more important things to worry about. The beauty of a news website is that it can accommodate stories of varying importance rather than arbitrarily decide what is or isn’t worthy of public discussion. There is a disconcerting use of the ellipse here, as if it was having babies, and an all-too-predictable three exclamation points, all the better to convey the reader’s apparently agitated state. “get back to work!!!” implies that someone (the story writer? The novelty cheque maker? The Tory MP? The opposition MPs? The investigating ethics commissioner?) is doing “this” (whatever it is) instead of some kind of work. In other words, this story is a trifle and should be ignored, which is exactly what the Conservatives would have wanted. Instead, our estimation of elected officials has dropped yet another notch and I’ll tell you, there ain’t a lot of room left for more notches.
This is not a grand scandal but it is something the governing party should be held accountable for. It’s a legitimate news story and the fact that the first person (and second and others — have a read) to respond wants to dismiss it in favor of more “important” things demonstrates how far politicians have fallen from grace, that we apparently no longer need to bother with the little stuff. Boys will be boys or something. As noted above, I am prone to being a tad cynical myself but there are still lines that must be respected.
Mostly I just wish people would think more and care more. And that the people we elect wouldn’t be such self-serving, power-grabbing scumbags.
And that The Province would get drummed out of business.
And that the world would be filled with puppies and rainbows.
The American Music Awards has announced its nominees for 2009, with the winners to be determined by online vote, the show airing November 22nd. One of the Artist of the Year nominees is Michael Jackson, whose most notable achievement this year was to die.
Apparently death is now a kind of artistic achievement. In a way it makes sense, as Jackson’s death was an entertainment spectacle for a few weeks this past summer.
He will be competing against Lady Gaga, who is not currently deceased.
Or Taking The Good With the Bad: The Apple Interface Story.
I’m using the 5th generation iPod nano for my running, using it in conjunction with the Nike+ sensor to track my time/distance. The setup is pretty slick and seems accurate enough. When I jog I set the iPod to shuffle so it does its random song thing and given that it’s choosing from over 2,000 songs, not all of which are suitable for running, I sometimes want to click the Next button to move on to something a little peppier than Roger Waters’ meditations on death or alienation.
When I was using the Sansa Clip it was simple. The Sansa was clipped onto my shorts, so I could just reach down and click the Next button. The “wheel” on the Sansa is not a true wheel and it isn’t flush with the face of the unit, so it’s simple enough to know where your finger is on it by touch alone.
The nano is undeniably sexy. If you hold it sideways the unit is completely flush — there is not a single bump to be seen on its sleek body. And that’s a problem. Since it has no clip, I run with it in the pocket of my shorts or jacket and it’s easy enough to reach in to access it. I can even tell bottom from top because of the wireless sensor that attaches to the unit. However, the wheel used to control volume and song selection lacks any kind of tactile feedback when you’re simply trying to figure out where your finger or thumb is on it. Menu is at the top, play/pause is at the bottom. Okay, but how do you know when your finger is in either position and not anywhere in-between? On top of this, the wheel is prone to accepting input for volume in a somewhat random manner. You have to slide your thumb along the wheel with enough force to get it to register but given how tiny the wheel is and adding in the movement when jogging, I find any adjustment to the volume is just as liable to go from too quiet to WAY TOO LOUD with one errant flick.
Long story short: I wish the Sansa Clip worked with the Nike+ sensor.
For the jog itself today, it was cool and cloudy and my right calf, having been tweaked a bit on the last run, felt a little tweaked again today, slowing my pace a tad. I managed to pass a guy who was jogging a good half-lap ahead of me (250 m or so) and the only way I can see that as being possible is that he must have stopped or switched to walking when I wasn’t watching because brother, I ain’t that fast. I picked up the pace as per usual for the last five minutes and at the three minute mark I knew i was off my best pace but I was determined to make the fountain. I did so just as the nice Nike lady announced the end of the run.
I tied my second best distance: 6.6 km.
I had my second best km: 4.51/km (only 0.01 seconds off my best)
I tied my second best average: 5.19/km
In short, I was the Avis of running today.
According to the Nike site, my best 5k is 26 min. 15 seconds. I’ll see if I can get that below 26 minutes.
Today I learned that Daryl Hall is 63 years old, only 11 years younger than my mother. This just seems weird. To me he still has feathered blond hair and pastel jackets. Actually, I suppose he still might.
I moved to Vancouver in August of 1986 and my first job was working at Expo 86. Five months later I began keeping a journal (I never called it a diary — the book has no lock so any ol’ person could leaf through it freely and I’m pretty sure a few certain people have). I diligently wrote in it every day, even on days when I had nothing to say. It seemed important at the time.
From time to time I’m going to post entries from way back when, to look back on what kind of bright-eyed idealistic dummy I was at the age of 22.
A snippet to start, from January 22, 1987:
Will someone put arsenic in Mariette Hartley’s Celestial Seasonings Herbal Tea…PLEASE!! After viewing her in that commercial only twice (during 20/20) I am ready to throw any number of blunt objects at the TV in the vague hope that through some weird freak of science, said objects will suddenly materialize before Ms Hartley and knock her front teeth out, thus cutting her grating, perky cute quotient down from two hundred trillion to something intolerably unbearable (which would be an improvement).
Such anger — although I think I nailed her perkiness fairly accurately. I was also gauche enough back then to use two exclamation points. Never again!
Now that it is getting cooler out, the ol’ furnace is being fired up after a long summer slumber. As always, the air in my place dries out considerably when this happens and there’s a period of adjustment that lasts about a week where my throat gets a bit sore and my sinuses act up. It was under those conditions that I ran today, a day behind schedule.
As it turned out, they proved to be a non-factor. Under an overcast sky I ran my:
farthest distance: 6.65 km (previous: 6.6 km)
fastest overall pace: 5:17/km (previous: 5:19/km)
This marked the first time I made it well past the fountain(still not working) — I actually came close to the starting line, so that will be a future goal.
No remarkable incidents otherwise occurred during the run.
Last night I went to a staged reading of The Trial of Judas Iscariot, a joint production with Pound of Flesh Theatre and presented at Pacific Theatre. I’d never been to the venue before at 12th and Hemlock. It’s a converted space in the basement of a church that used to house a swimming pool. Instead of the traditional stage/audience divide, the audience is split into two halves, with the small stage sandwiched in-between. The actors can enter and exit on three sides, two leading them under the audience. The theatre was intimate, which was pleasant enough and also rather warm and stuffy, which was less pleasant.
The Trial is an odd bit of theater and was presented in an equally unusual manner — Ron Reed, the artistic director, came onstage before the show to explain that the actors, who had been working with the script for a scant two and a half days, would be bringing said script onstage with them. Costumes would be minimal or suggested, as would props and scenery. Surprisingly, the performances were for the most part wonderfully tight, with only one notable (and actually funny) pause as one actor suddenly realized she was forgetting a single word and had to pause to find it on the page before continuing.
The play is an abstraction that puts Judas on trial for his betrayal of Jesus and instead of having a historical setting, it is instead presented in the modern day, with figures from the past ranging from Pontius Pilate to Mother Teresa and Freud mingling in a courtroom where the prosecution seems destined for Hell and the defense doesn’t seem squeaky clean, either. The first act rolls along quickly, with some very funny turns by Marcus Youssef as the sycophantic prosecutor, trying to stave off a trip to Hell while proving how Judas deserves to stay there and Michael Kopsa as Satan (“Call me Lou”), who metaphorically shifts forms throughout, from aw shucks nice guy to the one condemning you to an eternity of damnation without a glimmer of delight to be seen.
The auditorium doors had signs warning of extreme vulgar language and that warning is earned. This was stuff that could peel the paint off of Tarantino’s living room, yet it rarely felt gratuitous.
However, I ultimately left disappointed because despite some terrific performances and a strong, even rollicking first act, the second act’s pace slows noticeably as the characters indulge in longer and more serious monologues, all to service The Serious Message being presented about the nature of forgiveness. Eventually it felt like I’d stumbled into the Biblical equivalent of a Very Special Episode of Blossom. I am pretty tired of this kind of inconsistent and indulgent tone in stories, whatever the format, because it feels nakedly manipulative — stringing the audience along with “cheap” laughs in order to hit them with that oh-so-powerful sucker punch later — the Serious Message. There is certainly nothing wrong in exploring serious themes and I love a good drama as much as anyone, but this was less getting-chocolate-in-my-peanut-butter and more eating a coconut cream pie only to find a slab of liver at the bottom.
Third Man Out
Third Man Out is a 2005 movie featuring the gay PI Donald Strachey, played by Chad “Yeah, that was me in the hot tub” Allen, who wears the role well. A user review on IMDB sums the film up appropriately as a gay twist on the old Nick and Nora movies. Mixing light banter with a murder mystery and all of it set against the hidden and not-so-hidden gay milieu around Albany, NY, the first installment rolls along smoothly, with plenty o’ beefcake to keep those less interested in whodunnit engaged while dropping in enough red herrings to keep everyone else watching. You could tell it was shot in Vancouver not just because of glimpses of places like Esso stations but also the fact that it was raining in nearly every damn scene. It may be difficult to track down the remaining movies in the series (four total so far) but I shall try!
The story is about how Google Street Views has come to Vancouver (as I noted yesterday) and the front page tries to paint some scary picture of privacy being invaded. The Google images automatically blur license plates and faces, so the privacy concerns seem minimal at best. But that’s not something you put on the front page to evoke paranoia, is it? Anytime you get cash from an ATM, fill up your vehicle with gas, stroll though a mall, train station or airport, you are already being recorded, so the notion that you have any real privacy whilst out in public is unrealistic at best. It’s not news and hasn’t been for some time. Sure, there could be a thoughtful column pondering the increasing intrusion of cameras into public life but where’s the hysteria angle in that?
While grabbing a quick snack before attending a play last night, I picked up a copy of The Province that was handy and thumbed through it, finally landing on the op-ed pages. There was a signed editorial piece about how everyone loves Stephen Harper after his musical debut at a gala a few nights back. A pro-Harper editorial. Quite the shocker, it must be said. On the opposite page was the Letters to the Editor except it’s now called Backtalk (with the B cleverly reversed; alas, I cannot reproduce the effect here). Each letter, though given the brevity, it might be more accurate to call them letterettes, is presented under a sentence referencing the original story (ie. “Council plans to install nuclear warheads on city hall roof”) and is signed by, well, whatever the person wants. One letterling was signed by Joe the Plumber. There is no indication of location, so I’m not sure if Joe hails from Vancouver, Surrey or Madagascar.
In essence, The Province letters section, apparently culled from submissions to their website, amounts to anonymous soundbites of unknown origin. I remember some years ago I had several letters to The Vancouver Sun published, back when I was a regular reader. One of them was in response to a screed by their resident homophobe, Trevor Lautens. Lautens had written a typically despicable column and being full of youth and outrage, I penned an objection that they saw fit to put in the paper. They verified my name and address first. Yes, back then, The Sun not only put your name to what you wrote, but your actual street address (the last time I checked, they had modified that to simply your city). Today in The Province the reader comments are little more than worthless filler and even the page’s name — Backtalk — seems to acknowledge an expected tone of anger or dismissal because thoughtful responses that demonstrate an open mind and critical thinking are silly!
I am not hoping for a Canwest bailout that includes saving The Province.
The link above will show you exactly where I live. What’s even better is you can see Tim though the window sitting out back. Swing around and one of the neighbors is standing on the boulevard, no doubt with a “WTF?” look on her face as the camera car went rolling by.
It’s not perfect, though. At the 1200 block it suddenly jumps from the street to the alley behind our street, then at the 1100 block switches back to the street view again.
The run at 4 p.m. was under a cloudy sky, with the temperature a bit on the cool side, around 12ºC. I decided to wear my light jacket but probably could have managed with just the t-shirt. I didn’t feel overheated, at least.
Not because of the jacket, anyway.
I lapsed on several fronts — my average pace was a lowly 5.28/km and total distance was 6.42 km — but I also had my fastest km and mile at 4:50/km and 7:59/mile (breaking the 8-minute mark for the first time). In automotive vernacular I think I blew a piston. By the 7 or 8 minute mark I could feel pain up the middle of my chest and my breathing because very loud and labored — even over the music of the iPod. I wasn’t sure I’d make it to 15 minutes, much less 35 but I slowed my pace and kept on and ended up bringing my time down for the final half-km so the graph of the run looks like a bowl.
By putting so much into a fast start I dragged down my total run. Coming off two days of rest probably slowed me down a tic or two, as well. On the one hand, the faster km and mile are nice. On the other, coming up short on the distance is irritating — and you know you’re falling short before it happens because I know pretty much exactly where I should be on the trail at most of the time intervals. When the nice iPod lady called out five minutes I knew I was off the pace and would have to pick it up a good bit to close the gap and my body was all “Oh ho, I don’t think so, mister!”
And the fountain still wasn’t working.
I think I’m going to move to 5 runs a week next week and see how that goes.
