edwards block

Only two days remain until Vancouver’s triennial civic elections. If you’re reading this from somewhere outside of Vancouver, no need to go on – I recommend you read the label of a ketchup bottle instead – unless you care to learn more about the political underbelly of this town. After all, if even Vancouverites haven’t any significant interest (last election, less than one-third of those eligible voted), why should you care? On the other hand, urban affairs nerds might find the whole exercise a lesson in how not to elect governments in their own cities.

For starters, we have here what we call an “at-large” electoral system. Contrary to how that sounds – and what the quality of some of the candidates might lead you to believe – that does not mean that one must be the subject of a police hunt in order to run. What it means is that we have no neighbourhood-based electoral districts: all voters vote for the same pool of all candidates.

Yes, it’s awkward. There are at least four different ballots (excluding special resolutions): The ballot for city councillors lists 41 candidates on which voters must place an X beside up to ten names; the ballots for Parks Board (elect 7 of 21 candidates) and School Board (elect 9 of 20 candidates) are similar. Somehow, voters are expected to be familiar with the positions of 94 separate candidates, including the twelve running for Mayor.

It’s also expensive, from a candidate’s perspective: he or she must advertise to the whole city, not just a neighbourhood. Hence, candidates who do best are generally those with the most money. The ones with the most money are, of course, those who band together in political alliances and present themselves to voters in slates.

As you can imagine, the process of deciding for whom to vote is burdensome, and the outcomes for individual voters depend on several factors. Some voters are ideologically motivated; they vote for either the right wing slate or the left wing slate. Others pick and choose from the slates, and occasionally toss a vote or two to independent candidates (though these are seldom elected). Even with the slates, it seems likely that many voters choose their candidates based on other factors that reflect their own preferences and prejudices. For instance, in many elections, a candidate with an “ethnic” sounding name will often receive fewer votes than the other candidates on his or her slate, suggesting that xenophobia may sometimes be a factor. I suspect that in some cases, candidates whose names start with a letter early in the alphabet have a bit of an edge over the Wongs and Zigarliskis, if only because the voter runs out of Xs before she gets to the Xs.

In the past, there have been resolutions to move to a much easier ward system, where everyone votes for mayor, but only vote for council candidates in their own districts. This would certainly simplify things, though undoubtedly introduce other problems. I’m of the opinion, though, that at least a partial ward system would have to be better. I suspect that many people are dissuaded from voting chiefly because of the complexity of the ballots and the impossibility of really knowing for whom one is voting.

The reality is that our city governments are usually chosen through two factors: name recognition, and what I’ll simplistically call a rich/poor divide.

In a system like this a candidate whose name is familiar to voters is probably going to have either a distinct advantage, or a distinct disadvantage, (depending, of course, on whether that familiarity engenders positive or negative emotions in the voter). However, familiarity of name can be a neutral, but still problematic, reaction. For instance, our current Mayor, Gregor Robertson, would very likely suffer from the effects of vote splitting if an independent candidate named “George Robertson” ran for mayor. (For an example of this phenomenon, see the election involving Jim Green and James Green, 2005. There was another example in the 80s that I can’t recall now). In both cases, it is likely – though unproven – that a major candidate’s opponents deliberately engaged a similarly-named nobody to confuse voters.

The rich/poor divide, more accurately referred to, perhaps, as the east/west divide, has been abating to some degree in recent years, since the increase in home ownership (if that’s what one can call being mortgaged for a leaky, plywood box in the sky) concurrent with a continuous and dramatic rise in real estate prices is making those who formerly felt poor start to feel rich, if only on paper. Taking into consideration the aforementioned factors that discourage people from voting, it turns out that our elections are generally won by whichever slate manages to motivate more of its voters to actually go out and vote. Some would say that this is true in all elections, but I think that it is more critical the lower the turnout overall.

And of course, we can’t overlook the money factor. Since there are no spending or contribution limits in elections, our governments tend to be dominated by low-level status climbers and privilege seekers willing to dance to whatever tune the bankrolling developers and real estate types call. I’m sure that some would call that overblown hyperbole, but since I was once an active member and campaign worker with the most successful of the civic parties (before I quit it in disgust), I feel at least slightly qualified to spew forth on the subject.

At any rate, choosing candidates is an exercise fraught with frustration. Who has the time to go to all candidates meetings? It’s often a waste of time anyway, since they are usually stacked with a) campaign workers trying to hog the microphones so that they can target hard questions to opponents and easy questions to their candidates; and b) lonely – and usually long-winded – people for whom and open microphone is as tempting an invitation as is a bag of heroin is to an addict.

One could stay at home and read all of the candidate websites to find out what they stand for. Unfortunately, most of them are full of empty buzzphrases intended to fill out a “Platform” page with as many meaningless words as possible. E-mailing candidates specific questions is one option, though the chances of receiving a cogent response – if a response is received at all – from a major candidate is low, especially as the official election day draws near.

As I said – who has the time?

Fortunately for my readers who also happen to be Vancouver voters (whom I’m sure make up a voting bloc of such proportions as to fill a public washroom stall), I have taken the time to attend public meetings, read websites, e-mail candidates, read Twitter feeds, judge them on the quality of their campaign photos (and the style into which those who have hair have groomed it), and for good measure incorporated my own reactionary prejudices into the mix, too. Forthwith I present you with a summary of all of the candidates. I’ll deliberately try to avoid making explicit endorsements (with one or two exceptions), as my intention is to help you make up your mind, not necessarily get you to vote in lock-step with me. However, for those who wish to know, my endorsements will follow the summaries.

AFFILIATION KEY:

NPA: Non-Partisan Association, the (generally right-leaning) traditional victor in city elections.
VIS: Vision Vancouver. The (generally left-leaning) major alternative to the NPA.
CPE: COPE, or Committee of Progressive Electors, the decidedly left party that is in a semi-abusive relationship with Vision.
RPC: Resolutionist Party Canada. Whatever that means.
NSV: If you Google NSV the first result will be “No Scalpel Vasectomy”, but scroll down to “Neigbourhoods for a Sustainable Vancouver”, a party created largely due to a perceived denial of community input by Vision regarding new developments, particularly in the West End. I’m struggling to decide whether I think NSV will improve the city by increasing democratic participation, or impede its necessary progress toward densification by blocking change.
VCV: Vancouver Citizen’s Voice (a one-candidate - and possibly one member – party.)
GRN: Green Party. Sort of. The candidates (one Council, one School, one Parks) are Green, but they seem to be underplaying this label this election.
RICH: Rent is Crazy High. A couple of young people who feel – justifiably, I’d say – under-represented by the developer-funded major parties.

MAYOR:

[Mayoral candidate statements on city website].

Anton, Suzanne    NPA: Anton has been a councillor for two terms and, let’s be frank, is only the NPA’s mayoral nominee because no one else wanted the job. Known as a bit of an opportunistic flip-flopper (which her team tries to promote as “flexibility”), I have seen no indication that she has any real comprehension of any world except her own privileged, west-side one. She’s obviously not stupid, but it seems she hasn’t yet broken down the silver-spoon barrier that would enable her to be a mayor for everyone. Think Phillip Owen in a dress. Like Owen, she might suddenly come to some kind of an understanding of the other side of town once she’s been defeated at politics, but judging by her opportunistic grandstanding on bike lanes and Occupy Vancouver, she’s not mayoral material yet.

Buday , Golok Zoltan    IND: Possibly the candidate with the worst website. Has some valid concerns and is obviously thinking about issues, but not mayoral material.

Caissy, Menard    RPC: I can’t tell if the text on his cryptically-nested collection of webpages is campaign material, punk band lyrics, or both. Poor literacy level not encouraging.

Cooke, Lloyd Alan    IND: Too little information to judge positively.

Dubgee    IND: East Van musician. This guy sounds kind of interesting, though I wouldn’t necessarily say mayor material. He’s exactly the kind of person Suzanne Anton ought to spend some time getting to know a little. Unfortunately, she’d probably call the SWAT team if he ever came near her.

Helten, Randy    NSV: Although I haven’t yet convinced myself that he’s not a NIMBY candidate, this guy is on my maybe list. Seems to have more interest in democratic participation than other candidates, and that’s a big plus.

Lawrance, Robin    IND: The only candidate who has his eyes closed in his campaign photo. I hope he just blinked and isn’t deceased. At any rate, I’m not sure Vancouver needs a mayor that can’t take TWO digital pictures and pick the best. (Mind you, maybe he did…) No website, so what he stands for is unknown, but he gets points for confidence.

McGuire, Gerry    VCV: Has some good ideas, but can’t really be considered a serious candidate. Might be a good place to park your mayoral vote if you really can’t stand anyone else running.

Paquette, Victor B.     IND: Opposed to parking meters. Wants to return parks to the people by filling them with parked cars. Bzzzzz – Next!

Pelletier, Samuel    IND: Earnest young man with a highly sensible platform that is possibly the clearest and most literate of any of the 94 candidates. Blurry campaign photo makes him look a bit like Frankenstein. May have a future – should perhaps start with more modest goals.

Robertson, Gregor    VIS: Ah, Gregor. “The Juiceman”, as he is derisively known by rightist critics. There’s nothing the right doesn’t object to more than success, and Robertson seems to have some of that. Built a big business. Was born with good looks. People on the west side vote for him. Is building infrastructure for the city’s beleaguered bike riders. And yet… I still find it hard to get excited about him. Maybe because he seems a little too friendly with developers, or perhaps because he gushed enthusiastically about Gordon Campbell right before the provincial election. He seems a bit like a tactician most interested in whatever will improve his own political successes in the future. On the other hand, maybe that’s just good politics.

Zimmerman, Darrell “Saxmaniac”    IND: Hard to take seriously a candidate whose nomination form consists of “No profile provided. No contact information provided. No photo provided.” (and whose list of nominators looks like he passed the form around at the legion where a bunch of drunks scrawled names on it, many of them illegible).

COUNCIL:

[Link to all Council candidate statements on city website].

AFFLECK, George    NPA: I saw this guy at an all-candidates meeting and thought he sounded pretty reasonable and intelligent, except for some odd comment about how we need super-charged Chinese buses on Broadway, and I left the meeting thinking he might be worth a vote. However, I went and looked at his website, and it has to be the most content-deprived site I’ve seen. He says almost nothing, and taking that into consideration with his Twitter feed I must conclude that he’s either wilfully mute or simply vacuous. Perhaps his candidacy is simply a roll of the dice of fortune to see what happens, or maybe he’s building name recognition for a future run. Reminds me a bit of Gordon Campbell when he first ran for alderman in 1984 – and he was mayor two years later.

ALM, Kelly    IND: Has two websites, both the same, except the .com version is in a giant font (for the visually impaired?) and contains a bizarre chart that looks like a route map for Cathay Pacific. Seems a bit pro-car, and anyway, he’s a real estate agent, a career that rates lower in my books than school-yard pusher.

AQUINO, RJ    CPE: Seems like a nice enough guy, and seems potentially competent. Like most of COPE he has a lot to say about what isn’t working, but is a little short on what can (realistically) be done about it, such as the cost of housing.

BALL, Elizabeth    NPA: Website pretty much says what she’s done in the past (personally), not what she wants to do in the future (as a councillor). The most informative statement her site makes is “Elizabeth would like to continue her work and generate more revenue for Vancouver through arts, culture and heritage initiatives as well as improve our community by supporting children and working towards creating safer streets”, which really doesn’t say much at all. I fear she’s just a little too much of Anton’s world. She’s big on arts and culture, but I suspect her definitions of those are on the corporatey high-brow side.

BENSON, Nicole    NSV: Seems pretty good, though I haven’t heard her speak, except in a video intro. I’m somewhat sympathetic to the NSV candidates for their interests in neighbourhood consultation, transparency, and a reduction of blank cheques and subsidies to developers, but I’m also leery of NIMBYism and a rejection of the sort of densification that will be required, inevitably.

BICKERTON, Sean    NPA: I put Bickerton on my “maybe” list right off the bat mainly due to his opposition to expanded gambling in the city, though he’s not yet assured of moving up. I have some concerns about his “Safe Streets” initiative, which kindles an unfortunate memory of Lorne Mayencourt. I found his safe streets stuff to be rather vague about specifics and disproportionately targeted to the “crimes” being committed by marginal or minority groups, and without any hints about how he plans to fund his initiatives, since he’s running with a party that’s opposed to new taxes. How (or if) he responds to my questions will depend on whether he gets a vote. He got extra points for having the most detailed and informative website generally (though it still could have more meat).

CARANGI, Joe    NPA: Seems to have a lot of spunk, and as is well known, I like spunk. However, he likes to spew a lot of anti-bike twaddle, so low on my list.

CARR, Adriane    GRN: I’m pre-disposed to voting Green, so Adriane was on my ‘likely’ list early on, though not without reservations. I’d like her to be a little more assertive in presenting her opinions. She’s run for office seemingly countless times and has great name recognition. If she can’t get a seat on council this time, in a race that’s almost all about name recognition, it might be time to pack it in, or start getting a little more aggressive about her campaign style.

CHARKO, Ken    NPA: Another successful businessman who thinks that’s qualification enough to be a councillor. At least, that’s all I get from his website. Seems to be of the anti-bike variety, not uncommon in the NPA. I’m grateful to him for making his business known so that I can avoid giving him my money in future by choosing somewhere other than the Dunbar to watch films.

COPELAND, Cord “Ted”    IND: Types in all-caps, doesn’t know how to spell “independent”, no website. I’m not motivated.

DEAL, Heather    VIS: I don’t really understand why Deal seems to be unpopular with the right wing ranters to a degree that seems out of proportion to other Visioners. She doesn’t strike me as someone who is a rabid ideologue. On the other hand, I’m not sure that she stands out particularly, either. Undecided.

DHARNI, Michael Singh    IND: Candidacy seems to be all about the price of parking on city streets as far as I can see. Perhaps there’s more, but since he’s another independent council candidate without a website, who knows? Hellooooo? Does the 21^st century ring a bell? Even a child can set up a website on WordPress. For free.

FOX, Amy “Evil Genius”    IND: Her website has only a video, and I don’t do video when a paragraph will work just fine (the canny among you will have noticed the hypocrisy of that statement after what I said about Dharni). Appears as a joke candidate, but on the other hand, the candidate statement on her nomination form says far more in 140 words than most other candidates could apparently say in 140 pages. Maybe we should think beyond the necktie-and-fake-smile crowd and give her a chance.

FRASER, Grant    IND: He says that he has “had to wait for as many as 16 full trains at the Broadway SkyTrain station during the morning rush hour”. I would imagine that service could be improved, but I suspect that either he can’t count or he’s simply full of shit. Has provided nothing else to go on, let alone anything that makes me want to vote for him.

GAROSSINO, Sandy    IND: An early favourite. I like her boldness, her style, her enthusiasm, her ability to challenge and criticise things that deserve it while remaining positive. She started out anti-casino, and has a lot of vision (as opposed to Vision, of course) and the ability to communicate well. Seems able to work with many kinds of people. Should go far, if she can beat the “independent” odds. Might even make a good mayor. Deserves your vote – she’s almost certain to get mine.

GILL, Lauren     RICH:Likely to be viewed as a frivolous young idealist, and perhaps she should be, for her platform is not extensive. On the other hand, it’s no less extensive than some major party candidates who will be more readily accepted. Who’s to say she’s not just as worthy?

GREGSON, Ian    DEG: The De-growth candidates, of which Gregson is one, have an uphill battle, but they are initiating important conversations that tend to be stifled and pilloried quickly by those with competing vested interests. Having some of them on council along with a variety of other views would make for a more interesting city.

JANG, Kerry    VIS: Jang’s website suggests that he’s thinking about important things and suggesting progressive, creative solutions, though the website content also appears a bit dated. I’d like to know how he actually voted on some of the things that came before council.

KERCHUM, Marie    NSV: Doesn’t have her own website, and her Twitter account contains only 10 tweets, several of which are messages to new followers that say “Hope to give you good reason to follow me.” They’re probably still waiting. Rather unimpressive video interview on NSV site.

KLASSEN, Mike    NPA: His website extols all his virtues, but says nothing about what he wants to do. There’s simply a link to the NPA Platform which, if clicked, results in a “page not found” message that says “This is somewhat embarrassing, isn’t it?” Runs the citycaucus.com “news” site, which really seems an organ for abusing political opponents and promoting… Mike Klassen! Closely linked to Gordon Campbell and Colin “HST” Hansen, which is really all I really need to know.

LAMARCHE, Jason    NPA: Well, let’s put aside the fact that I never vote for anyone who poses for a campaign photo with his dog, especially when the dog is wearing a golf shirt. The whole sexist “date matrix” thing, along with some unfortunate sexist web dictionary entries that he swears he didn’t write (but that no one believes he didn’t) pretty much finishes him off for me. For gory details, read Jeff Lee’s Sun blog (where you can also view the stupid pet trick).

LOUIE, Raymond    VIS: Has no (known) personal campaign website, and there’s a Twitter account that might be his (@ClrLouie – but has never been used to tweet). I’d like to know that he has more in mind than simply toeing the party line.

LOUIS, Tim    CPE: Louis is an interesting character. Unlike many candidates, he’s prepared to take stands, even if unpopular, and I respect that. Unfortunately, he’s a bit of a polarising figure and I don’t think ideal council material, though he’s been a councillor before. He reportedly has a woodcut of Che Guevera hanging on the back of his wheelchair, and I once saw him at a showing of the movie “Fidel” (not at the Dunbar, thank the gods) wearing a bright red “Che” shirt. Now, I’m willing to acknowledge that Cuba perhaps does a few things better, or more humanely, than we do, and perhaps armed conflict was the only real way to get rid of the (U.S. backed) mafia running Cuba way back when, but I still can’t accept that a military dictatorship is a model from which to work here and now. I wonder, if Tim were able to hold a gun, would he be campaigning for votes or running through the woods picking off enemies?

MARTIN, Terry    NSV: Not much I can say that I can’t say about the other NSV candidates.

MASSON, Chris    DEG: Another De-growth candidate. They haven’t really distinguished themselves much, so whatever I said about the previous one likely holds for this one.

MAXWELL N BUR, RH    IND: Probably a nice guy with good intentions, but not likely to attract significant attention.

MCCREERY, Bill    NPA: I don’t care what his website says. I don’t care what he tweets. He lives in Richmond. Not even just across the river, but practically in Steveston. If I were in charge, a candidate would have to actually live in the city to govern it. I suggest he run for Richmond council. Next!

MEGGS, Geoff    VIS: I think Meggs is a pretty smart guy, and obviously pays a lot of attention to the city’s business. I approve of his support for bike infrastructure, and am tentatively in favour of reconsidering the future of the viaducts. However, he does seem to have a bit of a reputation as arrogant, and may have a few enemies. I think I saw a few in suits at the transportation meeting trying to nail him on something about attendance, but he shot them down easily. I’m not sure that I can trust him to stand up to developers, but he’s tough and competent otherwise.

MURPHY, Elizabeth    NSV: Not much I can say that I can’t say about the other NSV candidates. Saw her at the transport meeting – a mediocre speaker, likely due to inexperience. I’m sure she’d get better.

NGUYEN, Bang    IND: Seems to be hedging his bets by running for both Council and School board at the same time. Claims you “can’t make every single person happy”, but then tries to do that by saying “I will not remove the bike lanes but will not add to them as well.”

NGUYEN, Marc Tan    IND: As they used to say in high school annual write ups of the nerdy, awkward, virtually unknown students: “Best of luck in your future endeavours”.

ORSER, Rick    IND: A curious candidate. Put together a pretty thorough, if slightly odd website. Not sure what to make of him.

REIMER, Andrea    VIS: I like Andrea. She seems sincere, and has Green roots. Like Jang, I’d like to know how she voted on issues in council, especially related to development, but seems a good councillor.

SHAW, Chris    DEG: Shaw was an outspoken critic of how the olympics affected Vancouver, and I appreciated his tempered, reasoned voice. A smart guy who should perhaps be given a chance to participate in government.

SPIRES, Aaron    RICH: Another voice that deserves a little more attention than we generally provide.

STEVENSON, Tim    VIS: I once stepped into an elevator containing Stevenson and greeted him with a slightly unenthusiastic “Well, well. It’s our MLA”. He (inexplicably) blurted out his admiration for then-boss Glen Clark, and beamed proudly. When in return I offered a critical comment about NDP forest policy, he clammed up. I don’t know if it’s justified, but I find him a bit of an Elwood Veitch-like pleaser of people with power.

TANG, Tony    VIS: Another candidate who says little more than that he has a wife and a dog. Some people sure don’t do much work to earn votes.

WENDYTHIRTEEN    IND: Dear Tony Tang: Please see WendyThirteen’s website for an example of how to tell voters what you think you might like to do if elected. No need, however, to mimic her hairstyle – you’d undoubtedly frighten Penny Ballem.

WONG, Francis    NPA: Cute as a button, but not much to say beyond the party-line basics.

WOODSWORTH, Ellen    CPE: Years ago, I went to a few demonstrations that inevitably featured Ellen speaking into a bullhorn. I usually didn’t stay too long, as I’m not keen on bullhorn talk generally, and listening to a left-wing manifesto being read doesn’t make it more appealing. Mind you, right-wing manifestos are no more exciting, but they sound a lot better through expensive audio systems that only the right-wingers can afford. Anyway, yes, Ellen is of the old-school Rankin-style leftist that used to dominate council. I don’t necessarily agree with all of her positions, but she’s pretty hard working and earnest and is trying to is make Vancouver better for all. Maybe I wouldn’t be keen to have ten of her on council, but I think it’s pretty important that there’s at least one.

YUEN, Bill    NPA: “Bill Yuen is a professional engineer, who specializes in process optimization and performance improv….”. Zzzzzzzz…. Huh? Oh yeah. We’re down to the last council candidate. Sorry about being at the end of the ballot, Bill. Tough break. You ought to campaign for a randomly scrambled ballot. Anyway, as far as I can tell, Bill seems to be pretty involved in community stuff. If he hasn’t made it all up, and you’re inclined to vote for an NPA candidate, he’s probably a decent choice.

Ooo000ooo

Well, there you go. My brief summary of the election took eight pages, and I haven’t even gotten to the School Board or Parks Board candidates. You see why we need a ward system, already? Perhaps I’ll get to the rest before Saturday. If not, best of luck. I’ll need it too.

If you’d like my working spreadsheet, which contains all the candidates along with (if known/relevant) their party’s website links, personal website links, and Twitter feed links, feel free to view it here.

Update – Nov 19 @ 16:58h:

Late circumstances have caused me to drop the three NPA candidates that I had on my list: 1) The offensive chicken stunt held near city hall yesterday; 2) Bickerton’s failure to acknowledge, let alone reply to, my e-mail; 3) The reports that the NPA had hired lawyers to prevent identification- and home-deprived people in the DTES from voting.Best of luck to the rest of the party and independent candidates that I selected!

It’s impossible to experience my immediate physical location in precisely the same way in which I experienced it as a barely pubescent youth so many years ago. Nevertheless, as I sit at an upper-level table in the W2 Media Café I sense many ghosts unrelated to the Halloween enthusiasts who occasionally wander through in costume. In this physical space once again, memories flood back of those days in the 1970s, when I was beginning to come of age and Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside community (often DTES in current written reference) was beginning a sharp decline.

The W2 Media Café sits in the south-east corner of what was once a department store. It’s more than just a café, though it is the café that makes up the “storefront”. It serves good food and employs DTES residents. But it also provides, on three levels, community meeting space, broadcasting facilities, office and desk space, training programs and workshops (particularly in media-related activities), public washrooms out of which security won’t throw non-spenders, and provides other services as well. In other words, it’s a sort of high-tech community centre that’s more about providing access to modern cultural and political communication tools to everyone, including those who live in the the area but may not enjoy the privileges that allow them to be full civic participants. The social centre of the new complex, into which the café and other operations face, is an atrium that contains a basketball court as well as Stan Douglas’s large mural Abbott & Cordova that depicts the Gastown Riot of 1971.

The department store, of course, was Woodward’s. In its day Woodward’s, with its big, revolving ‘W’ on the roof, was a landmark and bit of a community centre itself. It was the dominant economic anchor of the community when I was young, particularly after the other major department store, Eaton’s, moved uptown to the new Pacific Centre mall, a tragic failure of urban planning that has been sucking the life out downtown Vancouver’s streets ever since (including the streets beneath which it sits).

As a child I spent a good deal of time at Woodward’s, for my only paternal aunt, Peggy, was a sales clerk at the store. I was born in Vancouver, but I’d been taken to the prairies when I was quite young and I usually spent only my summer holidays in Vancouver. Visits to see Peggy at Woodward’s were common, and often during those visits I travelled downtown to Woodward’s by myself. I used to catch the BC Hydro trolley bus on Fraser, near 37^th, adjacent to the Mountainview Cemetary. Back then, the buses were of the old, brillo style, and on rainy days were musty and steaming as they rattled along with a seemingly interminable series of stops and starts.

The Fraser bus stopped right outside Woodward’s, on Hastings just past Abbott. As I remember it, the entrance to the store was on Abbott, and as I rounded the corner I always saw the same plump, upper middle-aged woman in a colourful flowing dress and a hat. She sat on a wooden box against the building’s granite cornerstone, sang or chanted softly, and held out small religious tracts to any passer-by who felt called to take one, her apparently sightless eyes focussed somewhere above my head.

Often I took one of her tracts, though I had no more than a passing interest in their contents. It was she about which I was curious. Part of it was racial: I had never known any black people, except through the unreal filter of a television, but there was something else that drew my interest, and I’m not sure that I know today what that was any more clearly than I did then. Perhaps I wanted to know who she was, where she lived, and what she thought. Perhaps I just wanted to sit down beside her and listen to her sing. I was too cowardly for that, however, and instead, as I sat on the bus later, I read her tract and then left it on the seat for someone else.

Once inside the store, I sought out my aunt, who worked in Men’s Undergarments (or in later years, Purses and Wallets). She was usually busy with a customer, so I would hang around in the periphery, absent mindedly fondling underpants until she noticed me. Once free, she told me what time her break was and then I went off to explore until then. If her break wasn’t too far off, I would hang around the store, browsing records, or stereos, or sometimes furniture. Undoubtedly I was tailed by store detectives on more than one occasion.

In the 70s there were plenty of down-and-out and addicted people living in the area. I was wary, and cautious of danger, but I never felt particularly afraid wandering through the neighbourhood, and indeed, I felt far more in danger on the grounds of my own middle school in suburban Winnipeg than in Vancouver’s skid row. In a way, my peripheral experience of the Downtown Eastside probably contributed to my future expectations of what a big city should be, and I loved Vancouver – in small part – for the rough edginess of its inner city.

Of course, that was the 70s. I was somewhat naïve and the Downtown Eastside would deteriorate considerably in later years – due partly, in my opinion, to government policies that, instead of treating suburban social problems in situ, encouraged addicts and the criminals that prey on them to gather in the neighbourhood in a climate of virtual lawlessness, left largely alone as long as they stayed out of richer neighbourhoods.

If I was meeting my aunt for her coffee break, we usually went to the lunch counter in the basement of Woodward’s, near the entrance to the store’s grocery department known as “The Food Floor”. The lunch counter was a long horseshoe-shaped, chrome-and-formica counter behind which waitresses walked back and forth, pouring coffee from glass pots and pulling pencils from behind their ears to scratch orders on slips of paper that they would rip from their pads and stick to a long coil for the cooks to retrieve. I always ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with a pickle, crinkle-cut fries, and a milkshake, a flavour combination that still makes me salivate when I think of it today (though one I tend to avoid ordering).

Other days, I met my aunt for her lunch or dinner break, and we left the store to eat, sometimes with her co-workers, at a nearby restaurant. Most memorable was a few doors up Hastings (or was it across the street?), at the White Lunch Restaurant. Later I would learn that the White Lunch had once been a chain of diners in Vancouver that was reputedly so named because of the racist laws and culture of the day, particularly the anti-Asian laws in various forms. In the 70s, however, the White Lunch had a diverse clientèle that included Caucasian, First Nations, and Asian diners, and a healthy socio-economic mix, too. Woodward’s clerks, business people, hippies, and down-and-outers all occupied booths and counter stools without noticeable rancour or judgement.

Sometimes I would stay downtown until my aunt finished work and we would go out for dinner, or shopping, and later ride home on the bus to her house. Other times, I caught the Fraser bus on my own. The returning bus passed behind Woodward’s, on Cordova Street beneath the walkway to the Woodward’s Parkade. At the corner of Cordova and Abbott an older man with an accent (Italian? Portuguese?) sat, surrounded in a hut seemingly built of newspapers and magazines so that only his face and hands were visible. He shouted out to rush hour commuters major headlines and implored them to get their news. Occasionally I bought a newspaper, not so much because I wanted to read it (it was difficult to read the large broadsheets of the day on a crowded bus), but because I felt so big city buying a paper from such a vendor. Sometimes I was downtown late enough to see the booth after the vendor had gone home, when all that remained was a small plywood shack, undressed and padlocked, its daytime life extinguished.

After finally closing in 1993, Woodward’s sat empty for many years. Most of the buildings that comprised Woodward’s were demolished in 2006, but not before an uprising by local residents and activists, who occupied the original building for a week during the infamous Woodward’s Squat before being evicted by police. A subsequent tent city that emerged, and lasted for three months, shamed the city into a more progressive and community-focussed development plan, rather than allow the site to simply be turned over to land speculators, saving us, for now, from another soulless Coal Harbour.

Today, only the exterior of the remaining Woodward’s building is original – probably just the upper portions of the east and south walls. The interior is all new concrete and glass, industrial looking, clean. Behind the granite cornerstone sits a bank. The plywood newsstand on Cordova is long gone, and in its corner sits a shiny convenience store called “Express News”. The Woodward’s Food Floor is back, sort of, in the form of Nester’s, which is owned by Buy-Low Foods, which is owned by Jim Pattison. The rest of the complex is occupied by a combination of office space, condos, social housing, and the unfortunately-named ‘Goldcorp Centre for the Arts’, which is also the site of SFU’s contemporary arts programs.

I remember when I felt a youthful excitement about Vancouver, inner cities in general, and about my own prospects. In Winnipeg I watched Woody Allen films and – in comparison to my home – imagined that his Manhattan existed, on a smaller but growing scale, in my Vancouver. Thirty years on, I feel somewhat betrayed, for things have moved in a much different direction than I’d hoped. The town has too much money and too many people who seem willing to welcome increasing blandness and sterility. This is not unique to Vancouver, of course, but I feel the pain of it especially acutely here in my home town.

I’d thought I’d lost for good that youthful feeling of excitement. I had. But I got it back, just a little bit – I got it back this afternoon. Despite the extent of the changes in it, being back in this building, on this streetcorner, is an invigorating experience. I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the Visions of the Antons don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy town.

Anyway, we’ll always have Woodward’s.

PS: Don’t forget to vote in Vancouver’s election November 19.

Last night I went to the Vancouver Club to demonstrate my opposition to the presence of former United States Vice president Dick Cheney. Cheney, who has recently published a memoir titled In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir, was invited by the “Bon Mot Book Club” to address the club’s members.

I don’t go to very many public protests, because I don’t much like them. This has has more to do with temperament than judgement: I simply don’t like crowds, regardless of whether a crowd is pleased or angry. While a pleased crowd is generally less frightening, I find many crowds far too inclined to herd mentality to be worth the deprivation of my solitude. I’m not just talking about protest crowds: a crowd of sport fans, church parishioners, or family members have just as much potential for uncritical group-think when they gather.

Nevertheless, I felt compelled to attend this demonstration, as I believe Dick Cheney should be tried for crimes that contravene international law, particularly the United Nations Convention Against Torture, which was signed by Cheney’s former boss (or puppet, depending on your point of view), Ronald Reagan. Canada, as a signatory to this and other anti-torture conventions, has a moral (and possibly legal) responsibility to either deny Cheney admission or to turn him over to the International Court of Justice (to which a formal complaint against Cheney is outstanding).

By attending the protest, my goal was to express that opinion in a public way, and to express to the Bon Mot Book Club members that welcoming an alleged (and apparently self-confessed) criminal is, at best, a poor choice of dinner guest.

There are some things I did not have as goals while protesting. I did not go to prevent Cheney or anyone else from exercising his or her right to free speech. I did not go to block the doors and prevent the Bon Mot members from exercising freedom of assembly. I did not go to frighten, physically intimidate, or stalk and harass people who looked like they might be headed in the direction of the Vancouver Club, especially people who already looked frightened and intimidated. I did not go to scream, “How much are you getting paid you fucking pigs?” to the police who had been assigned to security. I did not go to try to assault anyone.

Photo: Vancouver Sun

Unfortunately, I was disappointed to find myself in a crowd comprised of many people who were more inclined to this sort of behaviour. I stood toward the back of the crowd, held my sign, and smiled politely at anyone who looked my way. I stayed until it was apparent that all the event ticket holders had arrived (and the media trucks had left), and then I departed, content in having expressed myself. I’m not necessarily opposed to more aggressive action when it is warranted, but stopping Cheney from talking wasn’t likely to save any lives or prevent any tortures at that moment and, at any rate, he has not yet been convicted of anything.

While at the demonstration, I took a couple of pictures with my phone and uploaded them to Twitter. I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but I’m trying to make at least some attempt to keep up with modern communication methods. It’s pretty much the only way the younger generations are communicating these days, and it seems to me that my refusing to play won’t have any detectable effect on the march of technological change (for better or for worse), but will serve to further isolate and lessen the impact of my cultural relevance (such as is it).

Upon arriving home, I found that my Twitter picture, which was accompanied only by the words “Cheney protest”, had been referred to by a Twitter user by the name of FACLC, a fellow in Alberta who considers to himself to be the love child of conservatives Richard Feynman and Ann Coulter. FACLC (whose alleged birth circumstances, I feel, perfectly justify his henceforth being referred to as “The Bastard”) apparently picked five people at random who had posted a reference to Cheney and called them all leftists with an “irresolute commitment to free speech”. Offended at being assigned the simplistic label of leftist, as if that single word somehow sums up my entire identity, and the suggestion that I was stifling free speech by exercising my own, I exchanged a couple of messages with him before I looked at his website and discovered that he’s one of those people for whom a position on anything that’s to the left of his must necessarily equate to communism.

I have to admit, while I was at the demonstration, I had a moment myself of feeling irritated by what I perceived to be the portion of the crowd that I sometimes, unscientifically, identify as being the “loony lefty rent-a-crowd”, the ones who show up to any demonstration that’s against anything. These are often the ones, unfortunately, who hold the bullhorns and scream incomprehensibly about contrails, Bilderbergers, and how 9-11 was an inside job. Some of them have a lot of time, energy, and emotion, but not a lot of critically informed focus, and some, I suspect, are simply members of our community who are struggling to find the right balance of medications with which to treat their mental health conditions. (They wouldn’t, of course, be so noticeable or command so much attention if more of the rest of us were inclined to do the work that we have apathetically left to them).

Looniness, however, is not restricted to those on the left. Dominating most of what passes for forums of public political dialogue these days (ie: the comment sections of news websites, or The Bastard’s Twitter feed), is a hugely energised crowd of people that I must refer to as the “loony right”. Somehow, anonymity and technology seem to inspire them to compete to see who can hold the most rightward of views, however insane or destructive, as if they’d collectively decided to  campaign for the return of western civilisation to the tenth century, but with internet, despite the likelihood that they would end up among the peasantry, or worse.

I don’t consider myself either a leftist or a rightist, and I don’t really care much about where The Bastard or anyone else would place me on that spectrum. Really, my reaction is about being labelled at all. I prefer to be free to arrive at my opinions independent of where they will situate me on the political spectrum or whether by holding them I’m contravening some party’s by-laws. If I have to be confused with one or the other, however, I’d rather be confused with the lefties, who at least seem to be motivated by the desire to build, rather than dismantle, civil society, even if their methods are sometimes misguided.

About the Bon Mot Book Club

If you’ve never heard of them and are wondering how you can join, well, forget it unless you’re rich, Conservative, and, most likely, white. More than one of their members endorsed conservative Liberal (explain that to your American friends) Kevin Falcon in the leadership race won by that “left-liberal” (as BC Conservative leader John Cummins refers to her) Christy Clark. Membership is by invitation or personal referral only, according to their website. If you want to cozy up to someone with referral privileges, try joining the West Vancouver Conservative Party constituency association, where Bon Mot founder Leah Costello is a board member. Or maybe you can petition the Globe and Mail, or the TD Bank, both of whom sponsor the event.

As book clubs go, this one isn’t what you’d call “literary”, so don’t expect to be reading any Proust (or Atwood, I suspect). Most of the books they dine in honour of (I’m reluctant to assume that they actually read them) are probably written by ghost authors.

It’s interesting that Leah named the group Bon Mot, French for “good word” – which is somewhat evocative of The Bible – yet is happy to celebrate someone willing to torture and kill people in the relentless pursuit of profit for his oil company masters. So Christian! Also amusing is Leah’s French pronunciation. If you watch the Bon Mot promotional video you’ll see her at the lectern pronouncing it as the “Bonn Mott” book club. Hearing this made me even happier with the sign I made for the demonstration:

Of all of greater Vancouver’s generally boring suburbs, Richmond has historically been my least favourite, though the truth is, all of the suburban cities rate relatively equally compared to the much-preferred Vancouver proper. There’s no single reason for my particular disdain for Richmond; rather, a complex web of accumulated, interrelated flaws has hardened me against feeling affection for the town that serves as the final output for Vancouver’s sewage.

Richmond’s most obvious flaw is its flatness. For most, this is probably a minor characteristic, possibly even an overlooked one, but for me that flatness is evocative of my adolescent years in Winnipeg, though at least Richmond has a habitable climate and considerably fewer mosquitoes. The feeling of flatness is enhanced by the traditionally low height restrictions of buildings and signs, owing to the city’s close proximity to the international airport. When in Richmond, I feel as if the sky is mere inches above and the urge to duck follows me everywhere, as if I were seven feet tall and wandering around in a door shop for dwarves.

Then there’s the traffic plan. Or lack thereof. I suspect that the only reason they thought to lay down any sidewalks at all was so that the car stereo and crap furniture stores that inhabit the strip malls have somewhere to put their sandwich boards that don’t inhibit the flow of cars through the narrow parking lots. The roads are generally too narrow for the volume, since early city managers neither planned for future right-of-way expansion nor tried to foster a pedestrian- and transit-friendly community. If you plan to drive down No. 3 Road, bring along a book. If you plan to walk, bring body armour and a good insurance policy.

Speaking of No. 3 Road, I’d be lax if I failed to mention the lack of creativity in street naming. I’d expand on that, but it gives me a headache trying ponder all the various combinations of names that can contain the word “bridge”, or to sort out the otherwise identically named Crescents from the Cul-de-Sacs from the Closes, all of which seem to intersect, abut, and sidle each other in an endless series of dead-ends and misunderstandings that make me avoid all but a half dozen known routes out of fear that I might be lost forever in a subdivision of identical bungalows.

But that’s enough criticism – let me say something positive.

Though I have for many years actively avoided going to “Ditchmond” (as the locals derisively referred to it back in the day), it has in recent years undergone a major demographic shift, and lately I have been making some tentative forays across the river to see what’s up. This wasn’t completely intentional – I was picking someone up at the airport a while back and the flight was quite delayed, so I had a choice of hanging around YVR or going to Richmond for a couple of hours, and even downtown Kelowna contains more tolerable amenities than the airport, so off to Richmond I went. I’ve actually been back a couple of times since, by choice.

On the initial visit I found myself in what is now known as the “Golden Village” district, a commercial strip that contains a number of Asian-themed shopping malls, and through which a rapid transit line was recently opened that connects the area to downtown Vancouver.

Actually, I’m not all that keen on the expression “Asian-themed”, for it makes it sound like a bunch of white executives over at Cadillac Fairview opened a regular old mall full of Gaps and Grand and Toys but hung giant paper dragons over the escalator. No one ever refers to Cadillac Fairview’s Pacific Centre as a “Caucasian-themed shopping mall”.

At any rate, I kind of like the Golden Village malls, at least as much as someone can who can’t stand malls to begin with can “like” one. I started with Parker Place, based primarily on the great name. In a way it is my favourite so far, for it seems most foreign to my learned idea of what a mall is. The hallways are narrow and (relatively) rabbit-warren like, and the stores generally seem to be independent in nature rather than the bland and predictable chains that inhabit typical North American malls. In fact, I believe that Parker Place is unique in malldom in that its tenants have strata title over their spaces. Perhaps because if this, it has a bit of the ambience of a public market, say, an upscale version of the Mercado Publico in San Jose but with more glass and tile and fewer muggers.

From there, I made my way to Aberdeen Centre. This mall is much more in the western style, a little more upscale and shiny than Parker Place, and the store spaces are rentals, but the stores here are also likely to be unfamiliar to those who know only the typical North American mall. Like any other mall, there are plenty of stores in which I have little consumer interest, but there is one that I like quite a bit: Daiso, the Japanese department store.

Daiso is a sort of upscale “dollar store”. Products tend to be, generally, of a quality on the lower end of the scale, but much of it is far better than what is usually sold in what we typically know of as dollar stores, and products are often aesthetically unique and pleasing. I find it a good place to buy notebooks and assorted office supplies, as well as affordable but nice looking and practical dishes. They also sell replacement rubber ear buds to fit the ear-bud style headphones (that Future Shop will tell you don’t exist as they try to sell you a whole new headphone for $30). The price of replacement ear-buds at Daiso? Four for $2.

One also can’t go wrong with the “Food Court”. Typical malls usually have all the same grease-trap joints as any other mall – bad food at low-ish prices. The food in the Aberdeen Food Court is actually pretty good, though. On my most recent visit, I had a slice of “Teriyaki Chicken Mochi” pizza at the peculiarly named “Strawberry Cones Japanese Pizza & Pasta”. Though pretty tasty, and of a quality vastly superior to any standard discount pizza joint, this was probably the junkiest food offering available in the court.

My favourite part of Aberdeen Centre, though, is also the cheesiest: the musical fountain. It’s a smaller version of the same sort of fountain found outside of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas. When I was in Las Vegas I wasn’t at all interested in it, but at Aberdeen I find it fascinating. Perhaps the smaller scale makes it a more intimate experience. The first time I went, the fountain was sending jets of water in all directions in time with the song “It’s a Small World”. On my most recent visit, the jets were syncing with a medley of classical themes, ending in a crescendo with the conclusion of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker. It’s really quite silly – I stand there with all the six year old girls, enthralled.

The Musical Fountain

It occurs to me now that if the most exciting product of my recent trips to Richmond is a fond reminiscence of shopping malls, either Richmond still has depressingly little of note to say about it, or I’ve recently been lobotomised, since under normal circumstances I feel as if I’m being smothered by an asbestos blanket if forced to spend 15 minutes inside a mall. I’ve been known to walk four blocks down Granville Street in driving sleet rather stroll through the dry warmth of Pacific Centre, and I’d rather be eviscerated than go to Metrotown Mall.

I’m sure that what makes the Golden Village malls tolerable to me is the extent to which they are “foreign” to what is familiar to me. Visiting them is not like wrestling alligators or hiking across the Brazilian Highlands, but there’s still a sense of adventure to be had in discovering them, the sort of adventure one gets from travelling to another country and immersing oneself in a culture different from one’s own. It’s a shame that more Vancouverites – Caucasian Vancouverites, I mean – don’t feel inclined to that sort of adventure, or so I deduce from the relative rarity of pale faces at Aberdeen, or some other “ethnic” enclaves in the Lower Mainland. It’s much more pleasant to get out an embrace difference than to sit around complaining about it. Isn’t that what multiculturalism should be all about?

As for the rest of Richmond, the city is not without some signs of progress, such as the previously mentioned rapid transit line, which is surely the best thing to happen to Richmond in decades. I also noticed that a number of bike lanes are now appearing on major routes. Overall, though, I’m still a ways from feeling affectionate toward the ugly urban areas outside of the immediate vicinity of the Aberdeen Skytrain station.

A small restaurant just outside the city centre. At a table in the middle of the room sits a beefy young man with t-shirt sleeves rolled up, a pack of Marlboros and a Zippo on the table in front of him. On the wall behind him, a poster, one of those old black and white pictures of dirty young men digging into their lunchboxes while sitting untethered on a girder hundreds of feet above what will become Rockefeller Center. Over the restaurant’s sound system comes the voice of Elvis Presley crooning Always on my Mind. In the corner, a man with a sweaty forehead flicks a cockroach off the wall behind him while he waits for a cheeseburger, fries, and a lemonade.

Brooklyn, 1972? No, Tokyo, 2011.

Specifically, the “Freshness Burger” just up the road from the Nakano JR station. Nakano is an off-the-beaten-track neighbourhood not frequented by the mainstream tourist. I’ve been sticking with Japanese food (well, Asian food – I think I had Korean last night, but since I couldn’t read the menu, I’m guessing about that), but after spending an hour wandering around the Broadway Shopping Arcade, my blood sugar was low and I felt the need for something fast and easy.

It’s not that Japanese food is that difficult. After all, I live in Vancouver and have probably eaten at least five times my weight in sushi already. The challenge is largely linguistic. Most of the restaurants I eat at have no English on their menus, but they usually have pictures of the food, so I just point to things that look appealing.

Twice now I’ve eaten in restaurants that had no pictures, so I had to pick something by pointing at text that, for all I knew, might have said, “Federal tax will be applied to all checks”. There is some risk involved, though I suspect it’s not serious. My fear, though, is that in my ignorance the waiter will bring me a plate on which a large pufferfish sits staring balefully up at me while the other patrons, all locals, look at me admirably, mumble amongst themselves, and then go back to eating their yakisoba. As it turned out, the first of these attempts resulted in a very plain, but tasty, bowl of noodles. The second time, I got a bowl of rice and sashimi (tuna, I think) and miso soup. Here it is for your enjoyment:

From what I’ve written so far, it seems to me that two things demand explanation. One is my use of “checks” instead of “cheques”, which under normal circumstances I would be loathe to do. At the risk of offending my American friends, I consider their spelling of the word for a promissory note to pay as a “check” to be a sign of wilful illiteracy of the worst example. I think it’s admirable to establish one’s new republic based on the sort of egalitarianism not practised by one’s former colonial master, but a new country should aspire to “be”, not to “not be”, and adopting ridiculously simplistic and confusing spelling just to be different seems absurd and, potentially, destructive to one’s ambitions. If the American empire is in decline – and given the line-up of proposed candidates for the leadership of the nation’s apparently ascendant party, one must conclude that the decline is now one of free fall – I would assert that the fault lies entirely with the unfortunate decision to adopt language that confuses financial instruments with the patterns on one’s boxer shorts.

I won’t go on about this subject, except to say that I’m extremely disappointed in the Japanese – the people who dress their daughters in British sailors suits for elementary school – for adopting this American misspelling over the clearly superior British one, for I see it all over the place. “Where?” you might ask. Usually at the bottom of menus, though they are frequently the only English words on them, besides “Menu” and “Drinks”.

The other thing that perhaps deserves amplification is my reference to the “Broadway Shopping Arcade”. Normally, a mall is the last place I’d be found anywhere, even in my own city, but I heard about this one while reading about Nakano and decided to take a look. The arcade itself is nothing to write home about (though I suppose that is, in effect, what I’m doing), but off to the side of it is a small network of winding alleyways full of tiny restaurants and bars, many of which would only hold a dozen people at most, some fewer. It was pretty quiet during the day, but I suspect that it’s probably a hopping place at night.

Best of all, though, is that at the far end of the arcade is a dingy old mall consisting of several floors laid out like rabbit warrens. The place is full of small shops that sell all kinds of oddities, dolls, clothes, comics, and food. The largest retailer, it seemed, is something called “Mandarake”, except that it wasn’t just one store. The were all kinds of peculiar little shops, which may or may not have been Mandarake-specific (some seemed more like small museums), seemingly independent of each other but maybe weren’t really. According to Wikipedia, Mandarake is “one of Tokyo’s largest vendors of used anime and manga-related products”, and their own site claims that they are “the biggest and busiest manga and anime place in the world.”

While in the mall, I picked up a couple of t-shirts of a type that seem to be worn by young people all over Tokyo: shirts that have English words on the front that make no sense whatsoever. It’s like someone generates phrases comprised of random English words and makes shirts. I haven’t been taking a lot of pictures in Tokyo, which is not unusual for me, for I tend not to want pictures of things that I can find 30,000 different views of on Google Image, but since I got here I’ve felt like photographing the shirts that I see people wearing on the street. I don’t of course, for that would be a little intrusive (not to mention lechy).

It’s not a shirt, but here’s a minor example of English oddity: an advertisement for some sort of building renovation:

I’ve been gallivanting all over town, since I bought a refillable transit pass that lets me ride all the trains, subways, and buses in metro Tokyo. I’ve ridden at rush hour several times and I haven’t found things as crowded as western media makes it sound. Yes, there are white gloved attendants in the stations, but I haven’t seen them shoving people into trains. I can also safely report, with some disappointment, that no one has yet groped me in a crowded train car.

Considering that the the population of metropolitan Tokyo is roughly the same as that of all of Canada, the level of cooperation and the efficiency of transportation is highly impressive. I have seen not one incident of road rage or expression of anger by anyone, anywhere. I have seen only two vehicles being driven in what I would call an aggressive manner, and both of those were being driven by Caucasians. The metro station in my neighbourhood, Ikebukuro, handles a million passengers a day. I’ve been through that station several times a day since I’ve been here, and it’s a model of social cooperation. There are people walking in all direction – it looks like the inside of a beehive. Compare that to Vancouver’s SkyTrain: the entire system handles only 380,000 passengers a day, but if two people are riding an escalator at the same time, the odds are good that one’s going to be irritated by the other in some anti-socially apparent way. I realise that they have their own unique cultural issues, but we have much to learn from the Japanese.

Among the other places I’ve wandered is the garden of the Imperial Palace. Here’s a picture of the wall and moat, as well as the Fujima-Yagura. A yagura is a building for storage, and this one, apparently, has a limited view of Mt. Fuji from the top:

I also went to Akihabara, which is the traditional neighbourhood for electronics. It has become a bit of a mecca for gamers and anime enthusiasts so it’s full of young (and old) geeks and nerds (the Japanese word, apparently, is otaku). I found a narrow, six floor mall stuffed full of tiny stores that were themselves stuffed full of every electronic part or component you might seek, from capacitors to server cases. Alas, I was unable to find (at a price I was willing to pay) what I came looking for: a battery operated, pocket-sized cellphone signal blocker.

Here’s the entrance, ’cause I know you’re as fascinated as I:

As I was leaving there, a huge thunderstorm descended on the city, with thunder so loud it echoed deafeningly between the buildings, and everyone on the street stopped to look up. Then, the clouds opened and a deluge of rain fell. People ran to awnings and the elevated train tracks for shelter. I personally ducked into the nearest store, which turned out to be the “Love Merci Adult Amusement Park”, five floors of every sex aid you can imagine, including one floor containing nothing but inflatable, anatomically functional dolls. Curiously – or not so curiously – all the dolls were female. The sex shop was unlike Canadian ones. It was clean, had friendly staff, there were male and female customers who seemed to be shopping without shame, and there were no peep show booths in the back with sticky floors. (I’m not sure if that last bit is an endorsement or a complaint).

Speaking of cellphones, this is another area in which Tokyoites are superior, in my opinion. Everyone, it seems, has them (as is the case almost everywhere in the world now) but they are very polite with them. Not once have I seen anyone talking into a cellphone in a restaurant or on the subway. In fact, there are signs on the subway asking people to put their phones on ‘silent’ and refrain from making or receiving calls. They’re all texting, to be sure, but it’s quiet. In fact, for the world’s largest metropolitan centre, Tokyo is surprisingly quiet. Car horns are seldom heard. People converse in civilised tones. The only place I’ve noticed an inordinate amount of noise is inside the ubiquitous pachinko parlours, which appear to be casinos full of slot machines. According to my friend Guy, from Sechelt, whom I met up with here, it’s all just in fun, and that gambling isn’t legal, but that if you know how it is possible to redeem your winnings for cash on the black market. I won’t be finding out, of course, for I’m too cheap to gamble. If I wanted to throw my money away I’d just flush it down the electric toilet with the heated seat in my hotel.

I haven’t done any cycling here, but it seems like it wouldn’t be too difficult to steal a bike if I were so inclined. Tokyoites seem to leave their bikes unlocked, or with minimal security, all over the place, and there are a lot of them, everywhere. In fact, today I happened across this peculiar scene in Nakano: