La Grande Finale

Wow. This one was hard. I don't know if I should be choosing items of personal significance or items the I think "define" Edmonton as a whole. I'll try to find a middle ground.

The first thing that comes to mind, is that I would keep the Powerplant. Not Deweys, the Powerplant. This was the location of one of my first concerts ever, from when I was about 15 or 16, where a few friends and I snuck in to see Jason Collett. I wasn't a huge fan of him back then, and only went because there was an extra ticket. The show was 18+, but we got in with ease and went to sit amongst the hip university crowd. The show itself was great, but what was special was that it was one of the first times I ventured on to the University grounds, because up to that point I never thought hard about life after high school. There I sat, petrified that the students that surrounded us were going to call our bluff and we'd get booted out, but we never did. So the Powerplant represents the genesis of me blossoming into an adult in Edmonton, you could say, and I imagine it has significance to a lot of students and alumni at the University.

The second thing, the obligatory hockey thing, would have to be my Oilers jersey from the Heritage Classic. It blends together many things: my love for the Oilers, both past and present; the infamous cold temperature of the city on that day; the grandiose and inspiring nature of the event itself. It was a day where the business oriented NHL went back to its outdoor roots, which was a gift for all fans of the sport. I know one thing, wherever I end up living in the world, I'll have that jersey with me, and no matter how much I may abandon Edmonton, I'll never abandon the Oilers.

Thirdly, I'd take something of my Dad's, probably a sweaty old work hat, or perhaps his reflective vest, to represent the blue collar population of Edmonton. I wonder if Edmonton will always be blue collar, regardless of how big it grows. Will the working class still flock here in the future? I guess we'll find out. Nevertheless, I'd keep these to remember the social class I grew up in, as a sign of respect for the people who work their lives away in this city. And also to inspire me to not land in that situation myself.

My fourth item, a jerrycan of fuel, will remind me in our futuristic society what we used to get so worked up about back in the days of the 21st Century, especially here in Edmonton, where you needed this stuff to get anywhere.

Lastly, my bus pass. As I get older, and grow alongside the city, I'm beginning to think that I'll never be a car driver. As pitiful as the ETS is right now, I still use it to get everywhere. So it must not be that pitiful, I suppose. The bus pass will signify what ETS once was, and what it will (hopefully) grow to be. The plans are in place, and if I happen to be in Edmonton in 2020, or 2030, I'm sure we'll have a pretty great system in place. Those will be the days.

Space and Time in a Child's Mind

It seems obvious to me that the character of Neil in A Tourist's Guide to Glengarry cannot comprehend life outside of his neighbourhood. Or at least not yet. But that's how it is when you're a kid. Everything is smaller. Have you ever gone back to your elementary school and noticed that the water fountains are more or less at your knees, or that you can easily press your entire palm on the ceilings, or that you can easily dunk on the basketball nets in the gym?

For me, all of these were true, but what is most alarming is the distance between my school and my house. In elementary, and moreso in junior high, I would sometimes walk to school, but it was a rare occurrence. I remember the distance being completely unconquerable on foot. When I did walk -- and keep in mind this was before the days of mp3 -- I spent the entire excruciating journey whining out of sheer frustration and boredom. How dare my parents make me walk miles and miles to school!

The funny thing is, the distance isn't really that far. At all. I can more or less see my elementary from my house, and make it there in 5 minutes if I walk semi-fast. My junior high was a little bit farther, but still only took me 15 minutes max.

To me, there is nothing more interesting in the science of cognition than the different between the brain of the child and the adult. Excluding the obvious differences of knowledge, thought, etc, the real mystery is the evolution of one's concept of space and time as we grow older. As a 12 year old, a fifteen minutes feels like hours, and five blocks feels like thirty. Now, these times and distances feel like tiny steps now that we have knowledge not only the entire city, but the world at large.

My question to all of you is, do you remember walking these (apparently) ridiculously long distances as a child, only to go back and realize that they're not so long after all?

New Urbanism

I've kind of had a weird relationship with nature as I've grown up, really. If anybody remember back to the first few classes where we drew out a map of our childhood, you may remember me mentioning the off-limits farmers field so very close to my house. Well, that place epitomized nature for me for the first ten years of my life.
Nature, to me back then, was this unobtainable fenced-off oblivion where mysterious and fantastical things happened. I can still perfectly see miniature self looking through the chain link fence and the simultaneous senses of fear and wonder that it brought me. This all seems very prison-esque, now that I'm typing it out, but I assure you it wasn't. The neighbourhood that I lived was no prison, but a safe haven from the mysterious on the other side of the fence.
The farmer's field was only one side of the area that I lived. Luckily, we had a small forest not too far away. It's gone now, and houses have taken it's place, but I can still remember it perfectly as well. It was dank, it was dense, it was (at the time) so very infinite. It was where all of the action happened; the childhood kisses, the pranks, the parties, the prepubescent shenanigans. Then it was clear cut for houses. Heartbreaking.

I guess this might explain my lack of connection with nature. It's always been the 'thing' on the other side of the fence, or the 'thing' that was in the way of more houses. Though I shouldn't say I have no connection. I absolutely 100% do, but since my teens -- since I moved into the city -- I've always felt more of a connection with the urban. I haven't completely rejected nature, though. In fact, the most impressive aspect to me about cities is their impressive mixture of natural and urban aspects.
Thankfully, this is something that Edmonton does well. Or maybe it's just lucky. We are lucky to have an extensive river valley system within a suitable walking/biking/bussing/driving distance from virtually every corner of the city, and I love that. I can spend my entire summer down there, and not think twice about it.

Just myself, the grass underneath me, and downtown towering above me.

The Mysteries of Edmonton (?)

This is inspired by Rita's most recent blog post. Well, the first line of it.

It goes, "To really fall in love with something, you have to know it."


I'm not too sure about this....

I'm sitting here, wondering -- still wondering -- what it is that Edmonton lacks. I mean, there are many inconsequential things that it lacks, but surely there is one encompassing thing that I can point a finger to. Looking back to my previous post, I'm still thinking that it's a serious lack of mystery that Edmonton has, but I don't know if that's the city's fault or mine.

I feel like I know Edmonton like the back of my hand. Perhaps that's too much. As I said last post, I feel that it's a city that I can't get lost in. Not only physically, but emotionally. My days seem to glide by, with nothing new or exciting happening. I feel like there's a lack of spontaneity. I feel like I can expect what my day will be like the next day, down to the fine details. Sure I visit new places, go to new restaurants, meet new people, but do these things really affect my thoughts on the city as a whole? Not in the least.

There must be something more, something grander. But the funny thing is, I can't figure out what that thing is. Is it a huge film festival? (omg I wish.) Is it a bigger sense of metropolitanism? (Also, I wish.) Is it a wonderful new urban development on the City Centre Airport lands? (I hope so.)

"Development". Maybe that's the key to everything. I know Edmonton so well, because nothing seems to be developing. Or when it does, it's at a snail's pace.

I would love to live in a city where people are constantly -- constantly! -- thinking about the future, manifesting itself into new, actively pursued, urban projects.

The Inner Birdseye.

I find it's kind of hard to wander in Edmonton, not only for reasons of weather and distance, but because of it's embedment into my subconscious.

Maybe this goes against everything this class is giving me, but I just can't seem to feel lost in Edmonton. It's incredibly large, yes, but it's still my home, and I know it well, even if it's a subconscious knowledge. I may not know the ins and outs of every street and alley, but it's familiar enough that I still have a solid sense of space and direction, and if I happened to get lost, I could simply walk in one direction towards a place that I am familiar with. (This doesn't include Mill Woods, where the cardinal directions don't exist.) It's almost as if, from wherever I may be standing, I can enter this mode where I picture the immediate area from above -- whether it's a block, neighbourhood, campus, or the entire downtown core -- like I'm a bird, or some omniscient being looking down at a maze. I can mentally locate myself within the area, and calculate where I need to go and how to get there. It's something that's done every single time I'm "wandering" and I'm sure it's something that all of you do as well.

Downtown Sydney is pictured above. It's fairly linear, and the blocks more or less intersect as they do here. It's fairly easy to navigate. When I spent some time abroad, I spent a few weeks in Sydney, and despite the fact I carried a map of the CBD in my back pocket, and I was able to find places, the city was still so foreign to my inner compass that I never had a clear understanding of size and direction, and I never knew where I was standing within the downtown core, or which direction I was facing. That's not something I feel in Edmonton.


In Edmonton, I always know which way I'm facing and (roughly) where I'm standing in the grand scheme of things, and I find this is a bit of hindrance to my ability to wander. I've never done so much amazing, fulfilling wandering as I've done in Sydney, where I truly couldn't pinpoint (even roughly) where I was.

Movements

I like to think that I have a good knowledge of Edmonton's neighbourhoods, and I got to be that way by wandering. Or taking detours. The Edmonton I live has three versions. The walking/biking version, the driving version, and my personal favourite, the public transit version.

I've got a pretty good knowledge of the walking/biking version mainly because of my affinity for detours. Rather than take the same route to wherever I'm going, my tendency to change it up has led me to see some neat places that would have otherwise never existed to me. It's not usually a conscious choice for me to go left rather than my usual right, it just sort of...happens.

The driving version, which includes the outer boundaries of Edmonton and beyond, remains more or less a mystery to me. Other than the libraries, I couldn't tell you where to find anything north north or west of downtown, or south and east of Argyll. On those long drives, I usually have one goal in mind: getting there. The journey is insignificant.

The public transit version, though my favourite, has its flaws. It is, of course, repetitive. Also the majority of my time on the bus has me headfirst into a book, letting the outdoors fly by me without me knowing. But the bus is how I integrate myself with the migratory pattern of the elusive wild Edmontontian.

It's these times that give Edmonton that big city feel, the times when everybody gets painstaking close to the stranger next to them, yet remaining completely anonymous. I've never heard more funny stories than I have minding my own business on the bus, or crunched up next to somebody on the LRT. In fact, I saw somebody with no arms get arrested on the bus today.

Needless to say, it was quite a sight.

Blocked.

I must admit gaining appreciation for Edmonton has thus far been a slow process, though I have enjoyed the new technologies that have been introduced to me. Sound maps, biomaps, walk scores, the highrise project; these are all projects that, despite my love for the urban, have entirely eluded me.

As much as I've enjoyed them, I still haven't managed to give Edmonton the proper credit that I'm sure it deserves. All of these maps, I'm sure you've noticed, are of cities far larger, far more cultural, or just far livelier than Edmonton. I'm not entirely convinced there there is a sound map that could truly set Edmonton apart from the sound maps of any other town.

However, Heather, don't fret. I'm not entirely a lost cause. I'm coming around, I swear. The incredibly humbling opportunity you've given me by inviting two established writer to class, has reversed a lot of the misconceptions that I've had about Edmonton, specifically with creative writing.

As somebody whose writing process is slooow slow slow, I've often attributed it to the seemingly bland city that I live in. In visiting Toronto for the first time this past year, I got a taste of what I thought was a writer's city. The infinite bustle of the several million occupants afford so much creativity to stream from my fingertips.

Minister Faust, with one simple thought, brought all of this creative potential to Edmonton. I'm sure it's well into the open that I am obsessed with the concept of what Edmonton could be, rather than what it is, and when he talked about writing about the Edmonton you want, and not the Edmonton you're stuck with, that figuratively exploded my brain.

So the point of all this is, the changes are occurring. Edmonton's potential has now suddenly stopped hiding from me. Or perhaps I've stopped hiding from it. Whatever has happened, I feel it's the beginning of something great.

The Rainbow v. The Right

Amongst the money-loving, tax-hating, unambiguously hetero populous that saturates our prairie province, there exists a (not so) hidden group of gay, lesbian, cross dressing, genderfucking body of citizens who -- despite the fact that they coexist with the young, forward thinkers -- are still somewhat susceptible to the conservative ideology that still lingers in the hearts and minds of the masses.

Edmonton has no Davie’s Village, or no Church and Wellesley. With no established district such as these, Edmonton’s gay population is still fairly translucent to the public. As far as City Council is concerned, it would make our city “terribly dirty” to allow us to hang rainbow flags from light posts, or paint giant hearts on the concrete.

Back in my days of cruising Whyte Ave, I saw many new nightclubs emerge from nowhere, become outrageously popular, and then fizzle out of existence in the span of a single summer partying season. Why was it that bars always failed? Lack of variety, of course. Don't open a bar that offers no more than the bar down the street. To give a little variety, I've said for awhile that if one wants to succeed in opening a bar on Whyte, they should make it a gay bar.

Seems like a good idea, n'est-ce pas?

Maybe not. I got to thinking. The nightlife downtown -- much more tame, much less dense -- gives the perfect opportunity for the gay crowd to flourish devoid of much hostility from the more unsavory of the straight crowd. Whyte Ave, for all of it's positives, transforms with the

appearance of the moon from a gathering place of friendlies to a villainous haunt crawling with drugs and alcohol mixed with wolfish bros just waiting to pounce on the first prey that they see. So maybe, with the thriving population of (Grade A Alberta)meatheads still prowling the Avenue, maybe a gaybar is not a great idea.

But enough with the negative. Like any other fundamental rights issue that has been brought to the forefront in the past 60 years, gays are slowly making their way into the positive light. However, change happens on a generational basis, so even if there are a few knots to untangle, we can sit comfortably knowing that our generation's offspring will be even more forward thinking than us.

I Cheated A Little Bit

This map is made up. I'm sure you've noticed. Made up probably isn't the best way to put it. Let's say it's currently just a dream. It's a map of Future Edmonton, stolen (with thanks) from a powerpoint presentation by the City of Edmonton.

I don't know if it's just me, but I can't stop thinking of Edmonton compared to the infrastructural juggernauts from around the world; the cities where, despite their extreme sprawl, one can get absolutely anywhere with just a transit pass. (Key word: Transit Pass.) Sure we can get anywhere in Edmonton, just as long as we own a vehicle. In the best and brightest cities in the world, its faster to take transit than your own vehicle.

I'm guessing a lot of your are examining the above picture, trying to figure out which of these hypothetical stops is nearest your home. In most cases, there's going to be a stop nearby. Now imagine you are a still a student (circa...2050?) waking up for school in the morning, walking (or bussing) the short distance between your house and the brand new LRT station nearby, only having to take a single train to University. No traffic, no noise, just pure locomotive paradise.

It sounds nice, doesn't it?

Despite all of the wonderful anecdotal maps we've been provided in class, they all focus on the small details of everyday urban life. I love these. I really do (I'm even warming up to Hitotoki). However, I think it's just a product of my futurist personality that I can only see Edmonton for what it could be: a massive, dense, smart city that prides itself on being able to get wherever you want in a flash and do whatever you want with relative ease.

(For those whose interest I've piqued, the aforementioned presentation as well as this website is chock full of information pertaining to LRT plans for the future, including concept drawings of stations throughout the city.)

L'introduction: My Edmonton

The title is a reference to an Edmonton band by the name of Shout Out Out Out Out. I'm hoping at least a few have been introduced to the synthesized bliss of their catalogue, or the seismic energy of one of their live shows on the feebly supported Starlite Room floor.

Miniscule in size, but close-knit at heart, the local arts scene - whether it's local musicians, Varscona improv, or Citadel theatre - is what separates Edmonton from the rest. The various artistic endeavours of my fellow Edmontonians are essentially the only thing that brings me out of my house on the cold nights.

I've noticed that not a whole lot of artists make it out of Edmonton. What is created here, stays here. It's our lack of international (or even national) attention that creates a cohesive group of like-minded artists who do their best to bring art to the land of the dead.

Oddly, the place that I spend the most time is also the place I spend the least time. During the day, my travels always find me going through downtown. To get anywhere through public transit, one must go through downtown, and I love it down there. The beautiful squares are welcoming and the shopping isn't that bad, but it pales in comparison to bigger cities. In the Torontos and Vancouvers and Montreals, their downtown doesn't die at night. I wish I could spend my nights downtown, but when the office workers go home, the city goes to sleep.

So I spend my nights in the houses of my friends; those who are stuck in the same city as me; the city that sprawls for miles in every direction. I like to think of Edmonton as a city by the sea. On one side, we've got mountains. On the other, the brutal(ly boring) prairies are like a vast body of water that nobody wants to sail across to get to the Eastern provinces -- the provinces that are alive.