Something's Rotten in Vancouver

While Donna is excited to finally be able to vote, I must admit that I am at an all time low in faith in our elections. I like to coddle myself with delusions about how different we are from Florida: How scandal doesn't stand in Canada. I love to point the finger at the Bush administration and call them a banana republic. But how much better are we?
Here in Vancouver we had a recent mayoral election that stank. It stank and nothing happened. We had over a dozen candidates, but in earnest it came down to two: Sam Sullivan and Jim Green. Pretty clear, except that we had another guy named James Green running. Same name right Jim and James. Except of course that James comes before Jim (alpha order).
Here is the stinky part. Sam won by less than 4000 votes and James got over 4000 votes. James did very little to advertise and came in third. Try a google image search for Jim Green Vancouver and Jim pops up to the top. For James Green Vancouver, the closest I got was a picture of a fish at the Vancouver Aquarium.
Worse, it has been reported that Sam helped James' candicy. True or False? I don't know, but I know it stinks. I also know that nothing is happening about it. No by election. No concession from the "leader".
All this is happening as we go into a federal election that stinks.

Citizen Keating

It snowed today. Big wet fluffy snowflakes. Unusual for Vancouver, but wonderfully appropriate for Donna's big day: Today she became a Canadian Citizen. While it is nice to see Mother Nature showing some good Canadian pride, this means I can no longer call her a foreigner, which I'll miss. It also means we won't get pulled aside at borders, which I won't miss. Recently Donna has been traveling under as many as three names and two flags, none of which is looked upon kindly by our neighbours to the south. In case you're wondering, in the end, after 29 years of living in Canada as a landed immigrant, it was the promise of voting that got her to swear her allegiance to the crown.

Damn Telus Ads

I'm starting to get angry at those damn Telus ads with the cute little bunnies. I don't want a bunny. I don't need a bunny. And the ads suck, cause all Donna asks me when they come on is "Can we get a bunny?" To my knowledge, she hasn't ever noticed the wares our little hares are pushing. She just sees how cute they are and wants one . Or two. Or more.
Not me, I like my carrots all to myself and I think those things will breed like rabbits.

Eastside Culture Crawl

This weekend is the Eastside Culture Crawl and I strongly recommend checking it out. Tons of studios are open on the eastside with artists on hand to show their work. The best place to start in my opinion is the old warehouse turn studio complex on 1000 Parker St. There are dozens of artist studios littered throughout the building. There are usually good sized crowds making their way through the building, so you can be totally anonymous or meet the artist as you gawk at stuff you hate and stare at stuff you love.

The Meat War

Donna and I are waging a slow war. At first I thought it wasn't a cold war, because I was fighting on the wrong front. I control the stove and the oven, Donna seems leary of them at best. So as chief cooker of our household, I was sadly self-deluded. I, or so I thought, would decide what we eat and what we do not eat. Tough talk, eh?
But talk is cheap and it doesn't buy the groceries, and it would seem that neither do I. Or at least that division of labour is more egalitarian when it comes to Safeway. So you can see - it is a cold war and the true front is the refrigerator. Sure I don't have to cook what is in there. There are always plenty of options. But Donna is ahead of us both. You see she knows well and true that I can't throw out perfectly good food. I'm far too frugal for that. She also knows that I'm too lazy to cook two versions of the same meal, so yes it is deliberate.
It has been a long slow battle and I must admit that I'm losing terribly. I was virtually a vegetarian when she met me and today I used actually pepperoni while making pizzas. (not the usual fake kind that I buy, but never use more than half of) I'll tell you - I didn't like it. Not one bit. ...Losing that is. The pepperoni was pretty tasty. See. Damn it. I am losing.

My Other Blog

For those who are curious about my painting, I have started another blog called paul keating's paintings There you will find all of the 'digitally blurred' paintings I've done.

Again, for those who are curious I am using a new technique that plays on the Impressionist style. The French Impressionists like Monet were painting in a time that saw the invention of the camera. Traditional portraiture would never be the same as the camera excelled at realism. As a reaction, a group of painters started painting loose and rough strokes and focusing on light and colour.

When seen close up, Monet's Water Lilies are blobs of colourful paint. When you step back, your brain blurs the colours until they make sense and suddenly lilies floating in a reflective pool of water appear. This process is called optical blending.

Recently, in reaction to the overwhelming use of the digital camera, I started painting portraits that use optical blending and a pixel like brush stroke. Up close, some of the portraits fail to resemble people at all and at a distance a face appears.

Robert Esmie

I had the chance today to spend a little time with Robert Esmie and to watch a tape of him blasting off at the Atlanta games. If you don't recall, he was the fifth runner on the Canadian 4x100 relay - the substitute. The night before the finals, he was told they needed him not just to run, but to lead them off. He shaved his head leaving the words "blast off" embossed in large letters. I don't know if you remember, but I do.
I spent that summer in Trinidad as the guest of a friend. I remember the 100 meter final first. My friend is Trinidadian and so his eyes, and every set of eyes in the room really, were locked on Ato Boldon. The only network we could pick up was American and so the camera was focused on the man in stars and stripes. While I, the lone Canadian, kept an eye on Bailey. Off the mark, it looked as if Bailey was out. He was far back at 20 meters and I was disappointed. This was the chance to erase some of the Ben Johnson scandal and it was slipping away. They were ecstatic. It looked to be a race between Ato and Frankie Fredericks of Namibia. The entire island was leaning forward watching, trying to push Ato faster.
At sixty meters, I was a believer again as Bailey poured it on, gaining ground with every stride. When he finally passed them in a blur and flew across the line. I was screaming and the rest of the island was quiet. Not that they weren't proud of Ato and his bronze medal, but they just never even saw Bailey coming. Their eyes never left Ato and Frankie's neck and neck race.
The network was shocked as well. No American in the medals. What should they talk about? They weren't prepared.
So even though I was still the sole Canuck, when the Canadians came to the line for the 4 x 100, everyone around me believed they could do it. They could beat the Americans. 'Don't count they out until the last second', they were saying. All I was hoping was for it to be close at the last leg. Esmie was young, Gilbert was unknown, Surin hadn't run well in the semi finals and that left Bailey to close the gap. A good start could make the difference.
When Esmie unveiled his haircut - Blast Off. I believed it could be done. Hearing him today talk about that moment and the cameras focusing in on that statement and how he felt electrified by the event, the attention, and the people, brought me right back to the little living room in blistering Trinidad. I moved to the edge of the couch waiting for the starters gun and when it went, didn't Esmie explode. The race of his life. Gilbert stretched himself and Surin knew before Bailey that we'd won. We'd beat the Americans on their own soil at the event they had never lost. Thanks Robert - what a blast.

Jip Diesel Should've Been Loaded

If only the Jipper had been drunk, he would be fine now and not the gimp he is. And the Jipper I've known would have been. We'd had plenty of access to free liquor all through dinner and Jipper turned it down. He and I were at a work event and after dinner we joined a lively bunch of co-workers in a bar. We each ordered a beer and before Jip could take his first sip, he was in need of some medical attention.
It is hard to say what happened for sure. I can't say whether the glass was cracked already or if it was too hot coming out of the dishwasher and the beer too cold out of the tap or if Jip is just super strong and dangerously unaware of his awesome power. What I do know is that had he been drunk, he'd have been fine.
You see, as the waitress handed him the pint, Jipper crushed it in his hand. If he'd have stopped at that, it would have fallen harmlessly to the floor, spraying people's feet with foam and shards of glass. Instead he tried to catch it. Instinctive. Sudden. He reached out and tried to snatch the glass as it dropped from his hand, already shattered into long shards. Had he been loaded, the delayed reaction would have saved him.
Jip caught the glass, cutting himself to the bone. He lacerated a tendon and nicked a nerve. After a few long hours in a dingy small town emergency ward, he was told he needed to schedule some surgery. They stitched him up, but he flew home the next morning to see a specialist. Turns out he'll be fine. He's got a cast on and it looks like he's thumbs up for a while.

Charlie and Chocolate Factory and Must Love Dogs

Last night four of us went to the Hollywood Theatre to see the double feature. It seemed an odd pairing and to be honest I really wasn't that interested in Must Love Dogs. Well, except that it did star Diane Lane. (Like fine wine, she keeps getting better with age.) Since I was already committed to the idea of seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the prospect of seeing a predictable romantic comedy had two things going for it - it was free and there was eye candy for me. Donna was also motivated by eye candy, but it came in the form of Johnny Depp in the first film.
Eye candy, it turns out is just where the similarity ended.
A reviewer wrote, "I was charmed by "Must Love Dogs" (the title is Internet-date shorthand), and it was mostly because of Lane and Cusack - though it was also due to writer-director Gary David Goldberg (1989's "Dad"). His script is full of complex and lively love patter..."
It is a lie. It isn't just bad. It is barely tolerable. If I had been rip roaring drunk, I think I would have still seen the 'twists' coming. I'll admit that Lane and Cusack are talented actors and that they, at times, were able to distract us from the painfully formulaic script. But no amount of talent could have bridged the awkward gaps in plot or breathed life into the tired obvious story.
On the other hand, the G rated Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tells us a story that we had all heard before and somehow makes it fresh and new. Johnny Depp does carry the story through his charm, intensity, and relentless commitment to the character of Willy Wonka. Tim Burton, the director, doesn't leave him stranded. He finds, in the factory, a perfect platform for his wild and wonderful imagination. Delightful, charming, and twisted.